


Enemy Mine (or, What Happens In Vegas, Stays In Vegas)

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkwardness, BDSM, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bondage, Crowley is a pine tree, Cunnilingus, Dominant Beelzebub!, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Humiliation, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Or maybe just enemies to lovers?, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Stakeout, Submissive Gabriel!, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 66,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Gabriel and Beelzebub join forces over their mutual hatred of Aziraphale and Crowley and decide to investigate how they could have lived through their respective punishments. It ends up in a full blown, double-fake-dating, buddy-cop-stakeout, sexual experimentation, bondage fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely beta reader and plot contributor emilycare. She came up with a brilliant plot twist for me, and her edits are worth their weight in gold! <3

Gabriel was beyond irritated at having to make a trip down to earth. Yes, it was beautiful, what with the waterfalls and sunsets and all that. Yes, they had some very worthwhile haberdasheries and shoe shops he’d become quite accustomed to. There were parts of earth (small parts) he liked, and they mostly centered around ways to improve his appearance. Still, it was also smelly and chaotic and loud. The sparkling, immaculate hallways and echoing chambers of Heaven, their walls gleaming and polished, were vastly preferred over the chaos and dirt and swarms of humans that one had to deal with on earth.

Far better to have this little meeting on earth though, than to have to go all the way Downstairs to Hell. Gabriel shuddered at the thought of the soot caked, slime covered, dripping, dimly lit monstrosity of an organization that made up the headquarters of his opposition. Consorting with a  _ demon _ was bad enough, but having to do so  _ in Hell  _ was not to be tolerated. 

He’d met with Lord Beelzebub a few times before. Usually on earth. The last time had been on the Tadfield airbase, right before that ungrateful whelp Adam had opposed Satan and ended the Great War before it even had a chance to get started. Gabriel didn’t have anything particularly against Beelzebub. She was a perfectly average demon. Repulsive. Scum encrusted. Amoral and untrustworthy. Those things were to be expected. And she treated him with enough respect. Making sure to only roll her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. He’d grown accustomed however to linking her in his mind with bureaucratic snafus and things generally going very wrong. To her credit, she wasn’t any happier with the situation than he was. They were both in charge of a rogue employee. Both responsible for reigning in a disobedient fool of an immortal being that had gone feral and native. 

Aziraphale. That twit. Gabriel scowled at the thought of the plump, mussy haired angel, and his disturbing dedication to outdated fashion. His love of rich foods and his obsessive collection of books. Gabriel remembered Aziraphale proudly presenting him with the Gutenberg bible, back in the early sixteenth century, exclaiming ecstatically over how this new printing press would revolutionize the way the world saw the written word. Gabriel had turned the large rectangular object over in his hands a few times before giving it back to Aziraphale with a sniff. Nothing all that impressive about a bunch of flat plant mush, covered in berry stain and glued together with God knew what. 

He knew Beelzebub had her hands full with _ that demon _ as well. Crowley was just as bad as Aziraphale, abandoning his wiles and evil deeds in favor of drinking and walking about town with the errant angel. And now, armageddon had been averted and the two had somehow found a way to become immune to the punishments Heaven and Hell had so cleverly concocted to eliminate them. Gabriel shuddered at the memory of Aziraphale, happily wreathed in Hellfire, smiling at him from within the pillar of flame that Gabriel had been certain would immolate him completely. His mood hadn’t gotten any brighter when Beelzebub called him to complain that Crowley had splashed about in his bath of holy water like a happy child, completely unharmed. 

It boggled the mind, and it was unsettling in the extreme. The pair was up to something. They’d been changed by all that time spent down on earth, and in ways that Gabriel didn’t understand, and certainly didn’t approve of. He’d had a few awkward phone conversations with Beelzebub about The Problem as they’d started calling this situation with the rogue pair. Beelzebub was also at a loss of what to do. 

Even worse was the fact that The Almighty didn’t seem overly concerned with Aziraphale’s blasphemous behavior. And to hear Beelzebub talk, it sounded like Lucifer, the Fallen One wasn’t particularly concerned either. Word had been handed down from on high (and up from down low) that the pair were to be left alone. And that was that. 

Only Gabriel didn’t  _ want _ that to be that. He wanted revenge. He wanted to find out what it was about this disobedient pair of beings that somehow allowed them to withstand, even to revel in the punishments they’d been handed. He didn’t like being made a fool of, and he knew Beelzebub loathed the demon Crowley and was just itching to teach him a lesson. 

And so they’d decided to meet in order to strategize their plan to get back at these two ne’er do wells. Beelzebub had insisted that they meet in Las Vegas Nevada, in the United States of all places. She said it would be the last place Aziraphale and Crowley could be expected to show up. Meeting in London, or in fact anywhere in the UK would only invite trouble if they were noticed, being as it was the pair’s preferred stomping grounds. And besides, she’d added, Las Vegas was Hell’s territory. The closest she could get to meeting Gabriel at headquarters without actually being in Hell. She promised that their next meeting, if there was one, could be held at some Buddhist retreat on a mountaintop or near (but not inside) the Vatican, if he wanted. 

Gabriel relented for the pure fact that he found the idea of meeting with the diminutive demon in either of their headquarters quite disturbing. The thought of Beelzebub, sooty and messy and often covered with some sort of horrifying skin condition the likes of which was last seen during the bubonic plague, standing in the gleaming halls of Heaven? Well, let's just say he preferred Nevada. And of course the thought of himself, Archangel Gabriel, making another trip down to Hell was skin crawlingly unappealing. 

So Vegas it was. Gabriel thought the neon lights and loud music and the semi-constant bells and computerized jingles coming from the slot machines were garish and tasteless. Still, Vegas knew how to make a person comfortable. He reclined on the plush leather upholstered sofa in the perfectly climate controlled lounge of the bar where they’d decided to meet and waited for Beelzebub to arrive. It didn’t take more than a few minutes, before she rose up from the floor in a cloud of dark smoke. Gabriel was only a little startled as the small, dark clad Lord of Hell appeared before him. No one in the casino seemed to notice. Gabriel thought it was telling that he wasn’t sure if this was because Beelzebub had cast a demonic spell to discourage people from looking in her direction, or simply because the people in this casino were so jaded and focused on gambling that they seriously couldn’t be bothered to look over at them. 

Beelzebub swiftly grabbed a chair from a nearby lounge table and pulled it over across from Gabriel, straddling it unceremoniously and giving him a stiff nod. Gabriel belatedly realized that the other reason meeting on earth worked well for him was that Beelzebub generally left off with the flies and the disgusting facial deformities when she made the trip topside. She appeared before him clean and neat, and without the giant fly that normally perched atop her head. She was disturbingly pleasing in her human corporation, and it made Gabriel uncomfortable. Her smooth, pale skin and ice blue eyes gleamed softly under a shaggy mess of inky black hair. She always dressed very androgynously in dark suits, and Gabriel didn’t want to like it, but he had to grudgingly admit to himself that she looked good like this. 

“Hey,” she said unceremoniously as she regarded him over the gilded back of the chair she was straddling. 

“Hello Lord Beelzebub,” Gabriel said, “I trust your trip was uneventful.”

“Yeah. Just a hop, skip and a jump.” She snapped her fingers and a tumbler of scotch appeared in her surprisingly small and delicate hand and she raised it to her lips and took a long sip. “Drink?” she asked. 

“No, thank you” Gabriel grimaced. “I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with gross matter.” 

“Whatever,” Beelzebub huffed a sardonic laugh into the mouth of her glass and took another swallow. “I have to drink in order to stand it up here. Everything’s so… clean,” she sneered as she looked around, light blue eyes flicking over the flashing lights and gold paint and all the desperate humans, struggling to squeeze more and more money out of slot machines and card tables. 

“We’re here to discuss what’s to be done with the Principality Aziraphale and the demon Crowley. I don’t want to be here any longer than you do, so let's get down to business yes?” Gabriel uncrossed and then recrossed his legs as Beelzebub sat up straighter in her chair and downed the rest of her drink. 

“Yeah. Sure. So, what do you want to do? Stab them? Poison them?”

“Heavens no!” Gabriel was taken aback, but also slightly titillated by the violent fervor in Beelzebub’s pale eyes. “No, nothing that  _ drastic _ . Not _ yet  _ anyway. I think we should start with finding out how they managed to survive their punishments, and then use that information to find their weak points and exploit that somehow. We can’t do much until we figure that out right? They could very well have the power to… I don’t know, thwart us?”

Beelzebub looked impressed as she eyed him over the rim of her scotch glass (which had refilled itself). “Yes. You’re right. If they have some sort of freak powers that protect them from demonic and celestial intervention, then it wouldn’t do to rush in. How do you propose we find out what happened?”

Gabriel thought for a moment. He wasn’t much for elaborate plans. He was an Archangel. They usually just waved a sword or issued a command and people hopped to it. “We could just... ask them,” he suggested. 

Beelzebub made a choking noise that sounded like it could have been a laugh. “Ask them? And you think they’ll tell us the truth? Oh that’s rich that is!”

“Well,” Gabriel wasn’t sure he liked her mocking tone. “We could use some sort of intimidation tactic. Make up some sort of official mission from head office, saying there’s been an inquiry and that if they don’t comply by answering our questions, they’ll be sent back to headquarters indefinitely. Or something like that.” he finished lamely. 

“Yes, that could work.” Beelzebub looked thoughtful. “They’re just dense enough to buy that. And if we make it look official, say this is a serious matter, so serious in fact that we’ve decided to work together… That might shock them enough to get them to slip up.” 

“We need more though.” Gabriel looked pensively down at his perfectly manicured fingernails for a moment while he thought. “We need a document. A subpoena. A…”

“An official inquest!” Beelzebub’s loud exclamation made Gabriel jump slightly.

“An inquest?” he asked, puzzled. 

“Yes! We could mock up some posh looking document allowing us to investigate the circumstances under which these two idiots were able to survive their punishments. They’ll be too intimidated to second guess it’s legitimacy.” 

“Hmmm.” Gabriel considered this, trying valiantly to ignore how silky smooth the skin on Beelzebub’s face and neck looked. She was quite attractive when not covered with oozing sores, if he were honest with himself. “Yes, that could work. Those two will believe virtually anything we tell them, as long as it looks and sounds official. And the fact that it’s coming from both of us at once? That could really drive the point home. Let’s face it. We’d never work together under any other circumstances.”

“Yeah. Good point.” Beelzebub finished off her second glass and refilled it with a snap. “I think they’ll buy it.”

They spent another hour or so mocking up the fake document. Putting it on impressive looking parchment paper and choosing language that sounded threatening and officious. Gabriel suggested gold filigree at the edges. Beelzebub suggested using spidery black script for the verbiage. Once it was done, it looked official indeed. And the errant pair would have no reason to doubt them. Neither of them (the rogue angel  _ or _ demon) had been spending much time in headquarters over the past six millennia, preferring to gad about together on earth. They wouldn’t be up to date on new policy decisions or decrees from On High (or Down Low). And to be completely honest, they were both utter morons to start with. Lazy layabouts with no work ethic. They were easy marks. All Gabriel and Beelzebub needed to do was to play their part convincingly, perhaps play up how unpleasant it was to work together in order to drive the point home that this was called for by those even higher up (or lower down) in rank than themselves. It had a fair chance of working. 

Once they discovered the source of Crowley and Aziraphale’s immunity to punishment, they could go about finding a punishment that  _ would _ work, and finally be rid of these two idiots, once and for all. 

They put the finishing touches on the document, adding a flourish of false signatures at the bottom, to look like a host of official angels and demons in positions of power had signed off on it, then Beelzebub rolled it up and tied it with a black silk ribbon. 

“There.” She said triumphantly, knocking back her fourth glass of scotch. If the alcohol affected her, it was impossible for Gabriel to see in her mannerisms. She was steady of hand and even of voice, though she did smile a bit more than usual. Her smile did something uncomfortable to Gabriel’s insides, something he pushed down immediately and ignored. 

“When shall we approach them?” Asked Gabriel. “I’ve got some things to do, but I have a few minutes next Wednesday that I could carve out of my schedule if you-”

“Let’s do it right now,” Beelzebub cut him off. She simultaneously tossed her empty scotch tumbler over her shoulder and it crashed merrily against the floor behind her. “I say the sooner the better.”

“Well. I guess. I could spare a couple of minutes to-”

“Good. Lets go.” She grinned wickedly at him, and he reassessed his prior assumption that the booze wasn’t affecting her. Her eyes were gleaming with a mischievous light that hadn’t been there an hour ago. 

“OK. Sure.” Gabriel was a little knocked off balance by the immediateness of the situation, but if he were honest with himself, he _ did  _ want to get these two punished and squared away, hopefully permanently discorporated before they could cause any more trouble. “Sounds good.”

“Alright then. They’re probably laying about in the angel’s bookshop. Let's head there first.”

Gabriel nodded and stood as Beelzebub rose smoothly from where she’d been straddling the casino lounge chair. They snapped their fingers simultaneously and found themselves standing in front of the angel’s monstrosity of a book shop in London, Soho. It was evening and the shop’s Closed sign was facing out, yet the windows were lit up with a rosy glow from the inside.

Gabriel gave Beelzebub a dark look and then rapped sharply on the door. “They’re in there. I can smell brimstone” Gabriel wrinkled up his nose. 

“Yeah. I can hear that stupid Principality giggling from here,” Beelzebub replied. She was standing next to him, and Gabriel was struck again by how very tiny she was. He had no clue how she could fit so much intimidation and spite into such a small frame. Her head barely came up to his mid shoulder. He pushed thoughts of their differing sizes from his mind and rapped again on the door. The giggling Beelzebub mentioned had ceased suddenly at the first knock, and now the pair were clearly hiding from them, refusing to come to the door. 

“Open up!” he bellowed. “Official angelic business!”

He looked down at Beelzebub and winked. His wink was met with a scowl. Together they waited for someone to open the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley lounged on Aziraphale’s old, threadbare sofa, a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in his hand, his shades off and his feet up. The angel sat nearby in his customary, overstuffed armchair with his own glass of wine. They were both well on their way to pleasant inebriation. 

Their time, post Armageddon had been spent in the sort of hedonistic permissiveness that only two beings who’d recently averted a death sentence and sloughed off the shackles of their millennia long servitude to bureaucratic supervisors could accomplish. Their days over the past few months had been comprised of finally doing everything and anything they wanted. Going to dinner without looking over their shoulders. Walking in the park. Drinking in open air cafes. Gone were the days of coming up with excuses to spend time together. At long last they could stretch their legs and and speak freely and let go of the semi-constant anxiety that had always come from knowing they were being watched. 

Crowley sighed contentedly as he listened to Aziraphale chatter on about his day. He enjoyed hearing the angel speak. His voice was so very melodious, and he always seemed to find something to be joyful about. It was a pleasant change from spending time with demons, who quite frankly were as dull as they were ugly. Aziraphale was neither. He was handsome and interesting, and funny. The angel’s sparkling blue-gray eyes and sunny smile always had a way of making the darkest day brighter. And now, Crowley could simply saunter over to the angel’s shop whenever he wanted and they could spend the day together. The  _ entire _ day. Not just an hour or two here and there under the excuse of “checking in” for the Arrangement. It was a wealth of quality time, the likes of which Crowley was almost unprepared to process. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For some avenging angel to appear and smite them both dead for the crime of enjoying each other’s company so thoroughly. But that moment never came. Aziraphale welcomed Crowley’s presence in the shop, in the park, across the table from him in posh restaurants and cozy little cafes and the occasional dive bar (when Crowley got the chance to pick their meeting spot). 

Crowley grew accustomed slowly to smiling back when Aziraphale smiled at him. He started getting used to going to see the angel whenever he wanted to. He and Aziraphale were six thousands years on this earth, and they’d had millennia to develop an affectionate (if physically distant, much to Crowley’s disappointment) adversarial companionship over the centuries. One would think that spending literally thousands of years in a carefully platonic relationship with one’s adversary, while pining away for them silently on the inside the entire time, would make it awkward to suddenly have no barriers in place any longer. But it didn’t. Outside of the “other shoe drop” feeling, Crowley relaxed into his full access to Aziraphale as if he were lowering himself into a delightfully hot bath at the end of a long day. There was next to no adjustment period. 

Crowley hadn’t been home in three days, preferring to doze on Aziraphale’s sofa, spending the days chatting with Aziraphale, making fun of Aziraphale, arguing with Aziraphale, or just sitting in companionable silence while Aziraphale read and Crowley surfed the web on his phone. Crowley had waited a long time to be this consistently close to the angel, and dear Satan, it was glorious. 

He raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip. He used to drink more heavily back when they’d had more limited time together. He’d always felt like he had to cram all the possible fun and connection into a few hours, had to soak up the sight of the angel across from him in restaurants and store it away in his memory banks, just in case they didn’t meet again for another century. Now, he was pleasurably engaged in taking his time with the experience. 

“And so she said that I simply  _ must _ sell her my first edition of  _ Little House On The Prairie _ , because she was distantly related to Laura Ingalls Wilder, and I told  _ her,  _ ‘madame, this book is valued at thirty two hundred pounds. Do you  _ have _ thirty two hundred pounds?’ And of course she didn’t. She tried to bargain me down to fifteen hundred. Can you imagine? The gall!”

“You really are a piece of work angel,” Crowley smirked into his wine glass as he took another sip. He ignored Aziraphale’s indignant sniff.

“Well, what was I to do? Take a profit loss of more than fifteen hundred pounds because she feels sentimentally connected to one of my books?” Aziraphale sounded put out, but only a little bit. This was a well worn routine between them. Aziraphale getting worked up over people wanting to actually purchase his books and Crowley gently ribbing him for being worked up about it. 

“Last week, you volunteered at a soup kitchen for the homeless for fifteen hours straight, for no pay, and this week, you’re grousing about a loss in profits. You’re independently wealthy angel. Why not let the book go for a few less pounds?”

“Fifteen hundred is not a  _ few  _ less Crowley! And besides, my work in the soup kitchen is just part of my angelic duties. Helping the poor. Feeding the hungry and all that. This woman was not poor  _ or _ hungry. She simply wanted to save money on the purchase of a very old and very important piece of literature.” He took a sip of his wine and sighed, gently readjusting his position in the armchair. 

“That’s what I love about you,” Crowley said, before he could edit his vocabulary, the wine perhaps making him more sentimental than he’d intended to be. “You’re so good and such a bastard at the same time.”

Aziraphale was silent, and for a moment, Crowley thought he’d gone a bit too far. His use of the “L word” had been casual, conversational. Non-intentional. Nothing damning, like maybe  _ I’m madly in love with you _ Or  _ I’ve loved you for millennia _ Or  _ sometimes I have trouble sleeping because I think about kissing you entirely too much _ . Just a simple slip of the tongue. Very casual. Not meaningful at all really. 

But, it appeared Aziraphale was only fishing a small fleck of book dust out of his wine with his pinky finger and hadn’t heard the secret message in Crowley’s statement at all. Crowley inwardly sighed with relief. He’d been in love with Aziraphale for more years than the average mind could comprehend, and he’d kept it to himself for longer than even he could remember doing so. It had all started back in the garden, when his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d slithered up to have a chat with the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, a nervous angel in billowing white robes. The angel had turned wide, large, storm colored eyes at him, eyes that matched the clouds gathering off on the horizon and had given him such a shy smile. And that had been that. Crowley had never seen a more beautiful sight than Aziraphale, fretting over his gifted sword, hands twisting together in front of his soft belly, his wild hair gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine on the seventh day of earth’s creation. 

Ever since that day, when Aziraphale had chatted so amiably with him, welcomed him, treated him as an equal, Crowley had been floating around after Aziraphale through the centuries with hearts for eyes. Their love, even  _ if  _ Aziraphale returned it (which Crowley strongly suspected he did not) was forbidden. A demon in love with an angel? It was so unheard of that no one had probably even considered it, other than Crowley of course. Crowley considered it relentlessly. Some evenings he considered it more relentlessly than others, while lying in his bed, hand down his pants and thoughts of Aziraphale’s soft smile dancing in his mind’s eye. 

He of course never spoke a word of his feelings to Aziraphale. Not blatantly or explicitly in any case. He preferred acts of service as a way to show the angel how he felt. Doing the angel favors and bringing him gifts and buying him lunch and rescuing him from the guillotine, could all be written off as things a friend would do for another good friend. Saying “I’m madly in love with you” could not be written off as anything other than what it was. And so, he’d pined quietly, and purchased enough crepes and pieces of cake to send a king to the pauper’s house, and bent over backwards to ensure that his angel was safe and happy. 

Aziraphale for his part, soaked up Crowley’s attention happily enough. He was very grateful, always calling Crowley “my dear” and “dear boy” and patting Crowley companionably on the arm. But above and beyond his gratitude and kind smiles, there was nothing of heat or longing there that Crowley could see. Except...there had been a moment, after Crowley had rescued Aziraphale’s books from the conflagration of a well-timed German bomb, when he’d sworn Aziraphale had looked at him with more than simple friendship. But he’d sauntered away quickly, unable to deal with the naked adoration and affection in the angel’s gaze as he’d handed Aziraphale back his precious bag of books. And Aziraphale had not followed up on that look with anything more, and so Crowley was forced to believe that he simply didn’t feel the same way Crowley did. That the angel’s loving look had had a lot more to do with having his books back unharmed, than it did with the person who’d done the saving of them. 

“I really should dust around here more often,” Aziraphale was saying, as he flicked the speck of book dust away into thin air and took another sip of his wine.

“That angel, is an understatement,” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale giggled in response at Crowley’s well worn joke about the place being dusty.

All of a sudden, there was a banging on the door. Both of them froze. It was late in the evening, around 8 o’clock, long after Aziraphale had closed up shop. Crowley tested the air with his tongue subtly and tasted brimstone. “There’s a demon at the door,” he said, his heart starting to pound.

“And an angel, too.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, with an edge of fear to it and he turned his wide eyes to Crowley. The pair looked at each other in silence for a moment until another knock made them both jump. 

“What do we do?” Crowley hissed, his human heart pounding in his ears. This was it. It had to be. The other shoe. They’d found out about he and Aziraphale’s little switcheroo and were now coming to arrest them. 

“Why would an angel  _ and _ a demon be at my front door?” Aziraphale whispered, just loud enough for Crowley to hear him. 

Crowley shrugged. “Satan only knows. Are you going to let them in?”

“No!” hissed Aziraphale, looking strangled. “I’m going to wait until they go away”

“We know you’re in there Aziraphale!” boomed a masculine, American accented voice that Crowley immediately recognized as Gabriel’s. He knew it was Gabriel’s voice because hearing it made him want to smash something, preferably Gabriel’s face. 

“Open up, Crowley!” The higher pitched, cynical tones of Lord Beelzebub’s voice came through the door as well. 

_ Gabriel  _ and _ Beelzebub? _ Crowley mouthed silently at Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who had gone white as a sheet, only shrugged back at him. This was strange indeed, and it didn’t bode well for either of them. Not any angel or any demon were knocking at the door of Aziraphale’s shop, but an Archangel and a Lord of Hell. Whatever this was, it was serious. Perhaps they could flee out the back?   
  


“Don’t even think about running out the back door Crowley” yelled Beelzebub, sounding tired and irritable “We have wards around it. You won’t get far.”

Crowley swore inwardly. How did she do that? Reading his mind like that?

“You might as well open up,” came Gabriel’s smug but muffled words through the door. 

Aziraphale shrugged and Crowley could see him preparing to get up and go to the door. “They’ll kill us!” he whispered loudly to Aziraphale. 

“I don’t think so my dear,” Aziraphale replied in a matching stage whisper. “They could have done that any time, but they’re probably still frightened by our unexplained powers. I don’t think we have a choice but to let them in.”

“Fine. but I’m blaming you if we both end up permanently discorporated.” Crowley wiped his suddenly sweaty palms down the length of his dark clad thighs, and rose to follow Aziraphale to the door. 

Aziraphale unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal a sight they’d last seen on the Tadfield airbase, before the appearance of Lucifer. Gabriel stood next to Beelzebub on the front step of the shop. Both looking rather grumpy. “Gabriel.” Aziraphale plastered a fake smile on his face, one that definitely did not reach his eyes. “Won’t you come in?”

Gabriel’s mouth twitched up at the side in what could be called a smile, if one were being very generous and very imaginative. He and a scowling Beelzebub stalked into the shop and stood awkwardly in the foyer. 

“Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley mumbled, dipping his head in a mockery of a bow. Beelzebub’s scowl deepend and she didn’t respond. 

“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” Aziraphale, Satan bless him, was trying his best to be a good host, even to his executioners. Crowley had to admire the strength of his hospitality and welcoming nature. Crowley, for his own part was working hard not to launch himself at Gabriel. The smarmy bastard had been so cruel and heartless to Crowley when he’d worn the angel’s visage into Heaven to face Aziraphale’s punishment.

_ Just shut up and die already _ . He could still hear those casual words falling from Gabriel’s lips as he’d stood before the searing hot pillar of Hellfire, expecting Aziraphale to step into his doom and be burnt to a crisp before his eyes. 

“We’re here on official business,” Gabriel said, absently straightening the lapels of his slate gray suit jacket.

“Yes. Official business,” echoed Beelzebub, pulling down the edges of her blood red waistcoat and shooting Crowley a sharp look with icy blue eyes. 

“Spit it out already,” Crowley said, surprising himself at the snark and bluntness of the words leaving his mouth. He realized belatedly that he must have shot past fear into that adrenalin fueled place beyond simple terror. As far as brain states went, it wasn’t bad. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was clearly shocked at his behavior, but Crowley didn’t care. 

  
“Come on, let's get this over with.” he continued, “We don’t need to waste time on pleasantries. Why are you two here? And why are you here  _ together _ ?” He could swear he saw Gabriel flinch at hearing the word ‘together’. Interesting.

“Angel Aziraphale and Demon Crowley,” Gabriel intoned in his stuffiest and most officious sounding voice. “We are here to investigate the events of six months ago, when the both of you somehow became immune to the punishments handed down by your superiors. The Almighty and Lucifer the Fallen have both requested that we investigate the circumstances surrounding your ability to withstand punishments that should have effectively obliterated both of you.” 

“What?” Crowley’s scalp had gone numb and he could feel beads of fear-sweat making a tickling path down his spine. 

“You heard him,” Beelzebub piped up grimly. “He said we’re here to investigate why the two of you didn’t just discorporate like you were supposed to. Why you were immune to holy water and why this one was unharmed by Hellfire.” She said, nodding at Aziraphale, then withdrew a scroll from an inside pocket of her black jacket and unfurled it with a flourish. Both Aziraphale and Crowley leaned in to look at it. “It says here,” Beelzebub continued, managing to sound almost bored, “that we have official permission to investigate the circumstances surrounding your failed execution attempts. If you are both to be found truly immune to Heaven and Hell’s attempts to discorporate you, then we’ll have no choice but to leave you be. But…” and here she paused for the sake of dramatic suspense. “... if we find out that some sort of trickery was involved, and the two of you actually  _ are _ able to be punished, you will be subjected to the full extent of celestial and demonic correction and retribution for the crimes you’ve committed.” 

“Yes,” Gabriel broke in, “and so, we hereby demand an explanation for why you’ve been able to survive your punishments.”

“What if we don’t tell you?” Crowley asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was always one for back talking and second guessing. He knew it would make them angry, but at this point, he was beyond caring. 

“If you refuse to comply with our official inquest,” Beelzebub continued, “we’ll simply return to head office and come back with reinforcements. You may be immune to holy water Crowley, but we could discorporate you in any number of other ways, and deal with you back at base if you prefer.” Beelzebub grinned wickedly at him, and Crowley felt himself backing down, his heart racing unpleasantly at the prospect of being arrested again and dragged back to that stinking cesspool that was his head office.. Away from Aziraphale and his beautiful life on earth. 

“So,” Gabriel intoned, sounding pleased with himself in a way that made Crowley burn with a very strong desire to bash his face in, “How was it that you became immune to our punishments? Tell us, or there will be Heaven and Hell to pay.”

Crowley had no idea what to say. He couldn’t very well tell them about the body swap. That they’d cheated by trading places. That would lose them the only hard won advantage they had that would allow them to continue living together in peace. But what else could he say? His mind raced with possible explanations that would be intimidating and yet truthful enough to be believed. 

“We’re in love,” said Aziraphale. Crowley turned to look at the angel in abject disbelief, his eyes widening, and his mouth falling open. 

“You’re what??” Gabriel was clearly as surprised as Crowley was, and Beelzebub had gone very still all of a sudden. 

  
“You heard me,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer to Crowley and placing an awkward hand on the demon’s back. “We’re in love. We’re in love and we’ve been having… relations with one another, and that’s how we’ve built up an immunity to your punishments.”

Crowley realized that his mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap. “Um.. Yes” he said, his voice shaking with fear and shock. “Yes. He’s right. We’ve been… well.. We’ve been um…” 

“We’ve been making love to each other for millennia,” finished Aziraphale, and Crowley thought he might pass out hearing those words coming from Aziraphale’s mouth. “He is my darling demon and I am his angel wangelkins and we are very much in love.”

“Angel-wangelkins?” Beelzebub had gone a strange green color and looked like she was going to be sick. 

“You’ve been… having relations?” Gabriel also looked ill. 

“Yes!” piped Crowley, not wanting to let disbelief linger for too long before he could back up Aziraphale’s claims and grasp at the one (rather cleverly thought up) story Aziraphale had committed them to. “I’m very much in love with my angel-wangelkins. He’s my everything and we’ve been shagging like rabbits since before the flood.” He leaned over and gave Aziraphale a swift and incredibly awkward peck on the cheek before putting an arm possessively around Aziraphale’s broad shoulders. It would have felt amazingly good if he weren’t so socially uncomfortable. 

“That’s… that’s...  _ disgusting. _ ” Beelzebub’s voice was thick with horror as her pale eyes flicked back and forth between the angel and the demon before her. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Aziraphale said, grabbing the hand Crowley had wrapped around his shoulders and giving the Archangel and Lord of Hell a fierce look. “Our love won’t be denied. And, as it turns out, if you share… essences for long enough, it imparts an immunity of sorts to punishments that would normally discorporate us both.” 

“You’re lying,” Beelzebub, her voice soft and low and deadly serious, her blue eyes narrowing as she looked right at Crowley. “I can tell when you’re lying, and right now, you’re doing it through your teeth.” 

“He’s not!” Aziraphale, bless him, jumped to Crowley’s defense. He then turned in Crowley’s embrace and grabbing him by the lapels, pulled him into a very sudden kiss. Crowley felt his mind go blank and felt the bookshop and the presence of the shocked Archangel and Lord fall away as his world narrowed down to the soft feel of Aziraphale’s lips against his own. He let out an embarrassing noise and kissed Aziraphale back, too surprised to do anything other than act on instinct, and his instincts were screaming at him to deepen the kiss, to drag Aziraphale upstairs right now and ravish him, disapproving supervisors be damned. 

After a few blissful seconds, Aziraphale pulled back and turned to address the angel and demon standing before them, as if nothing had happened, leaving Crowley to stand there, his cheeks burning, his lips tingling, his breath coming in short little gasps in the aftermath of Aziraphale’s surprise kiss. 

“He’s telling the truth! Would any demon let an angel kiss them if they didn’t want it to happen?” Aziraphale’s voice was fervent and sounded very convincing, at least to Crowley’s ringing ears.

For some strange reason, this question made Beelzebub’s cheeks color and she took a half step further away from Gabriel. “No, of course not. An angel kissing a demon is… disgusting… repulsive. It’s an abomination.” She said with passion. Gabriel looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot and clenching his jaw. 

“I still say they’re lying,” this from Gabriel. 

“We’ll prove it!” Aziraphale countered. “We’ll make love right here in front of you both”.

“NO!” both Archangel and Lord put their hands up simultaneously, their eyes wide and faces painted with twin looks of shocked horror. 

“Don’t you dare,” Gabriel said. 

“I think I’m going to retch,” Beelzebub added. 

“Well then,” Crowley had recovered from Aziraphale’s surprise kiss enough to be capable of speech. “How shall we prove that our love is real, if not with a…. demonstration?” 

All four celestial and demonic beings fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. 

“We’ll keep an eye on you,” Beelzebub spoke up. “We’ll have you watched for a month. You won’t know where we are, or when we’ll be watching, but we’ll keep watch and make sure you’re behaving as a couple. Any idiot can pull  _ one _ kiss out of thin air when they believe their lives are on the line. It’s quite another thing to  _ live _ as a romantic couple for a  _ full month _ .” She turned to Gabriel then “If they’re lying, their ruse will fall apart within a matter of days. No demon could keep up that sort of sustained affection and physical contact with an angel for longer than a day without going mad.” 

Again, Gabriel looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Good idea Lord Beelzebub. Yes, you’re right. Faking a romance between an angel and a demon would drive them both insensible or make them physically ill if it was an act. And everyone knows that sex between angels and demons is impossible. Either that or highly unpleasant.” 

“Will you be… watching us.. Inside our homes?” Aziraphale’s voice was tinged with horror at the prospect, and Crowley had to agree. No amount of blissful happiness at the thought of “faking” being in love with Aziraphale for a month would be worth having these two creepy characters watching them inside their respective domiciles. 

“Of course not!” Beelzebub said. “We’re not perverts. And frankly, the thought of watching the two of you being all lovey dovey is enough to make me want to sick up as it is. No, we’ll only watch your behavior outside of your flat and your shop.” She turned to address each of them as she spoke. “But…” she continued, holding up a cautionary finger. “Don’t think you can get around this by never leaving the house. You’ll need to be out and about at least four or five times a week if you’re to convince us that this… this…,” she looked ill for a moment, like she was swallowing down bile that had risen in her throat. “ _ relationship _ is to be believed. Otherwise, we’ll know you’re faking it and we’ll bring reinforcements to drag you back to head office for  _ processing _ .”

“It’s a deal!” Aziraphale sounded so sure of himself, and Crowley had to admire his conviction. He saw a long road ahead of him, one in which he’d be pretending to feel how he actually felt for someone who was pretending to feel a way he  _ didn’t _ actually feel and wondered briefly if death by discorporation wasn’t a better way to go. 

“Fine.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and a gold pen appeared in his hand. He offered it to Aziraphale “Just sign the document. It states that you have been informed of our official inquest and that you will comply with this investigation to the best of your abilities or face punishment as a result.”

Aziraphale sighed in a resigned manner and leaned forward to sign his name in looping, ancient script. Crowley ignored the pen and signed with a sparking tip of his finger, his signature burned into the page with a thin line of hellfire. 

“Well, that’s that then,” Gabriel sounded pleased with himself. He glanced sideways at Beelzebub, who nodded stiffly. “You’ll be watched whenever you leave the house from now on.” he added with a grim look. 

“Wonderful,” Crowley said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I hope you enjoy watching an angel and a demon being madly in love, because you’re going to get an eyeful,” he added, hoping to make the unpleasant duo grimace. He was not disappointed. Gabriel looked like he’d just eaten a lemon whole and Beelzebub had turned green again. 

“Let’s go Gabriel. I’ve had enough of these two jokers.” Beelzebub turned and headed for the door. Gabriel gave the both of them another stern, judgmental look before following her. The two exited the shop and the door shut with a merry jingle of bells behind them. 


	3. Chapter 3

After waiting half a minute, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, “What were you thinking angel?! Couldn’t you have come up with something less… drastic?”

Aziraphale looked put out. “I thought it was rather ingenious actually,” he said, pouting a little. “You saw how uncomfortable the thought of you and I being… involved made them. What better way to fool them then by making it about something they can’t stand to even think about? If they find watching us unpleasant, then they’re far more likely to give up and let us be when we keep up the act.”

Crowley had to admit that the angel made good points. “Yes, yes. You’re right. It is a pretty clever plan. Only… pretending to be in love? For a month? Won’t that be… difficult?” He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t fishing for some sort of confirmation that Aziraphale found the idea at least a little appealing. 

“Oh, it will be easy as pie,” Aziraphale said, turning to head back to the sitting room and his abandoned glass of wine. “No problem at all. You and I get along rather well already. All we’ll have to do is go out and about together like always. Only we’ll simply hold hands now and then.”

The thought of holding hands with Aziraphale made Crowley feel a little weak in the knees, but he rallied admirably and followed Aziraphale to the back room. “Holding hands? Do you think that will be convincing enough?”

“It should be. They were quite repulsed by the sight of us kissing, so I think hand holding will be a sufficient display of affection.” He picked his wine glass back up and sat down in his armchair. “I’m sorry about that by the way dear boy. Didn’t mean to impose. I simply had to show them that I meant business, and kissing you was the fastest and most direct way to do that.”

“S’alright angel,” Crowley replied, rather than say what he wanted to, which was  _ you can kiss me anytime. _ “It wasn’t bad.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to think that I made you uncomfortable. I shan’t do it again.” 

Crowley panicked inwardly. “Oh, um… I think you might have to actually angel,” he said, a little too quickly. “I don’t think they’ll be happy with hand holding for a full month. So, just to be clear, it’s OK to kiss me when you want to prove a point. I hereby give you full permission to do so whenever. Any time we leave the shop or my flat. Any time at all.”  _ shit. Pull back you moron _ he scolded himself for how eager he sounded. 

“Why thank you my dear,” Aziraphale replied with a genuine smile. “That’s very helpful to know. I’d hate it if this plan of mine caused you pain or discomfort. I shall keep my kisses only to times when they will forward our scheme, so as to not bother you more than necessary.”

“Thanks, angel.” Crowley sat back down on the sofa, trying to get his heart rate back to normal after talking to Aziraphale about kissing him. He was still reeling somewhat from the last one. Their first kiss, and it had been in front of those wankers, Gabriel and Beelzebub. Not at all what he’d pictured (repeatedly) in his mind’s eye at all. There were no candles. No soft music playing in the background. No romantic circumstances at all.

Crowley had dreamed of kissing Aziraphale in every possible, romantic scenario he could imagine. Getting caught in the rain and kissing. Falling against one another by accident and their faces getting really close and then kissing. Going out to a fancy dinner and kissing over dessert. Their hands touching over a wineglass and then.. kissing. He’d imagined Aziraphale telling him that he loved him in just as many ways. In exactly none of those scenarios were they doing anything romantic in front of Gabriel and Beelzebub. And that was how it had first happened. With an audience of their two least favorite people. 

And yet… it had still felt amazing. Crowley would remember the feel of Aziraphale’s soft, yielding lips against his own for the rest of his days. He’d probably be wanking off to the thought relatively soon, though he had the decency to feel a bit guilty about that fact. There are few things more pathetic than bringing yourself to an orgasm with thoughts of a person who isn’t remotely interested in you. And yet, Crowley wasn’t above doing it, if it got him through another lonely night. 

“So,” he said out loud, affecting casual languor as he draped himself back onto the sofa. “How do you want to play this? Go out a few times a week and hold hands? Let them see us being sweet together?”

“Yes my dear, I think that will do nicely. We can play it by ear as it were.”

“Oh angel. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” said Crowley, his heart already racing at the thought of where this conversation was headed… where he was steering it anyway. “Playing it by ear, off the cuff, that’s the quickest way to get caught. We’ve been friends for a long time, but we’re not used to… being like that together. If we look stiff and uncomfortable when we do it, they’ll know something is up for sure. They barely believed that kiss as it is.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale admitted. “How do you propose we go about it then?” he asked, looking and sounding so incredibly innocent that Crowley almost felt bad about what he planned to say next. Almost, but not really.

“I know this is an unpleasant idea angel, but… I think we’ll have to practice?”

“Practice?” Aziraphale’s cheeks grew pink, his voice held a slight tremor. 

“Yeah angel. Practice. They’ll never believe that our relationship is real if we don’t look like we do this sort of thing all the time. We’ll need to practice kissing. Being affectionate. That sort of thing.” He saw Aziraphale open his mouth, maybe to protest, and he was quick to add “Not a lot of practice. Just enough so that we don’t feel so awkward about it in public. Believe me angel, I find it as unsavory and uncomfortable as you do, but it’s what we have to do to save ourselves from discorporation.”

“Unsavory?” Aziraphale sounded put out. 

“Well… awkward at the least. Don’t get me wrong. I’m OK with kissing you. It’s for a good cause, and you’re a pleasant enough chap. I just thought… you know… kissing a demon would be, unpleasant for  _ you _ .” he finished lamely, giving Aziraphale a sideways glance to gauge his reaction. 

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a hardship dear. You’re also quite a pleasant chap, and it’s for a good cause, so it won’t be any trouble.” Aziraphale took what looked like an extra long gulp of his wine.

Crowley was trying valiantly to still his human heart, which was at this point trying to beat its way out of his chest to flop wetly against the wooden floorboards of the bookshop. “Well… shall we give it a try then?” he asked, praying the shaking in his voice wasn’t too evident. 

“Certainly.” Was that hesitation Crowley heard in Aziraphale’s tone? It was hard to tell with Aziraphale sometimes, because he could be so infuriatingly polite all the time. He could definitely be a bit of a catty bastard at times too, especially if you asked his regular customers, but outside of that, he was always so sweet and kind and accommodating. Crowley hated that he felt like he was pushing Aziraphale into this situation. He hated more that he couldn’t tell if Aziraphale were truly alright with it, or if he were swallowing down revulsion to help their cause. He hated even _ more  _ that he didn’t care enough to stop himself. 

“Alight. Well. I’ll just... stand up then.” Crowley got up from the sofa and stood awkwardly, waiting for Aziraphale to stand up as well. 

So they could practice kissing. 

_ Dear Satan, give me the strength to live through this _ , he prayed silently, as Aziraphale put his wineglass back down on the coffee table and stood up as well. He stepped closer to Crowley and stood there, looking very uncomfortable. 

“I can see your point, Crowley dear.” He said, his eyes canted down at his own hands, which were balled up together in front of his soft stomach. “I don’t feel very comfortable right now, and that will show up as quite obvious to our persecutors.” 

“Just relax angel. It will get easier if we do it more often.” Crowley stepped a little closer and took Aziraphale’s hands in his own, interlacing their fingers. “Is this OK?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded stiffly.

“Just close your eyes and I’ll do all the work,” he said, hoping he didn’t pass out from nervousness before he could actually kiss the angel. Aziraphale nodded again, this time, his eyes drifted down to rest briefly on Crowley’s mouth before fluttering closed. His long, dark blond lashes rested prettily against his flushed cheeks, his soft lips parted and expectant. Crowley felt his heart beating double time inside his chest as he contemplated the lovely face before him. 

He stepped even closer, unlacing his fingers from Aziraphale’s in favor of placing them gently on the angel’s soft, broad shoulders and leaned slowly in until he could place his lips against Aziraphale’s. They stood there for a moment, both frozen in discomfort, before Crowley pulled back. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and he blushed an even darker shade of pink. 

“Well,” he said. “That wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

“Ngk,” replied Crowley inarticulately. “No. Not bad at all.” he added, knowing that making strange noises wouldn’t count as open communication. “Shall we try again?” he asked, aware that his lower lip might be trembling a little with an overdose of adrenaline. 

“Certainly my dear. Practice makes perfect!” Aziraphale grinned nervously at him. 

This time, Crowley gently gripped the sides of Aziraphale’s face in his hands, the softness of the angel’s skin making his brain go haywire a bit, before leaning in and capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his own, more forcefully, using just a little more pressure than before. 

This time, Aziraphale didn’t freeze up. His lips melted against Crowley’s and he made a soft little noise in the back of his throat. Crowley felt a pair of strong arms wind their way around his waist and pull him in closer against Aziraphale’s broad chest and soft belly and he made a noise of his own, half moan, half whine. To his surprise and pleasure, Aziraphale opened his mouth a little and probed gently with his tongue against Crowley’s closed lips, and they both deepened the kiss, tongues sliding oh so gently together, causing Crowley to moan again, embarrassingly. He felt like his insides had turned to liquid flame, to searing lava and every touch point in his body where it was pressed against Aziraphale was tingling with sparking fire. 

After a few thrilling moments of their lips and tongues moving softly and wetly together that made Crowley’s body throb with need, Aziraphale pulled back breathless and flushed. “Well,” he said, his voice sounding lower and rougher than usual “That’s quite enough of that for this evening. I… I doubt they’ll be expecting something quite so… involved. Though it is nice to know we’re capable of it, should the need arise.” He sounded nervous again, and stepped swiftly out of Crowley’s embrace, pulling down on his waistcoat and straightening his bow tie, like he did when he was uncomfortable. 

Crowley felt twin stabs of loss and guilt over having the angel leave his arms, and possibly making Aziraphale uncomfortable with the kiss they’d shared. The angel did seem to enjoy himself, but now, he looked almost mortified. Perhaps it was because, as Crowley had long suspected, Aziraphale was not a sexual being. The angel had never made one lascivious comment, had never mentioned feeling any pull towards sexual pleasures of the flesh, preferring to put his energies towards desserts, books and rare tins of tea. Perhaps the experimentation Aziraphale had engaged in by gently probing with his tongue against Crowley’s during their kiss had been too much? 

Crowley hated the idea of making Aziraphale feel uncomfortable, but to be fair, it  _ had _ been Aziraphale who’d initiated the deepening of the kiss. It had been Aziraphale who’d suggested this mad bloody scheme to begin with. 

“You alright angel?” he asked as Aziraphale puttered nervously about the shop, bringing their wine glasses into his small kitchenette and straightening up the pillows and well worn blanket on his ancient sofa. 

“Oh, I’m quite alright dear. Don’t you worry about me.”

“It’s just that you’re acting sort of funny…” Crowley let the indistinct descriptor hang in the air, waiting for Aziraphale to elaborate or reassure him. 

“I’m right as rain Crowley. Perfectly fine. Only…” here the angel paused as he was plumping up a brocade sofa pillow, one that was almost permanently moulded to the shape of Crowley’s elbow from all his time spent lounging atop it. 

“Only what?” Crowley probed, keeping his voice gentle. Not wanting to scare Aziraphale off from confessing the true source of his discomfort. 

“Only, that was the first time I’ve ever kissed anyone,” the angel murmured, focusing far too much attention to the pillow gripped in his hands. 

“Really?” Crowley was genuinely taken aback. “Angel, I’m.. I’m honestly surprised.”

“You are?” Aziraphale looked up at him with worried eyes, so Crowley rushed to explain. 

“Well… I thought at some point, over the millennia, that you’d have kissed… someone. A human? Another angel…”

“No dear, I have not. Angels are not encouraged to engage in ...um… pleasures of the flesh as it were. And kissing humans is… well to me, it never felt quite right.”

“Not to me either,” Crowley agreed

“Why? Have you kissed humans before?” Aziraphale seemed suddenly keenly interested, his eyes narrowing and his grip on the pillow tightening somewhat.

“A few, here and there,” Crowley responded, the soul of casualness. He  _ had _ kissed a few humans over the centuries. It helped with the tempting. He’d kept it to kisses alone though, knowing that having sex with them would be a strange breach of trust. Even for him, a demon, it felt wrong. The poor things. They were all gullible enough as it was without him trying to mess with their wibbly bits. None of the humans he’d kissed however had compared to his fantasies (and now reality, he thought with a hot flush) of kissing Aziraphale. 

“Oh...how was it?” Aziraphale asked, sounding strangely put out. Perhaps he thought less of Crowley for indulging with humans in this way?

“It wasn’t very exciting to be honest,” Crowley said, sitting down on the other end of the sofa with a splaying of long limbs, affecting as casual a posture as possible in the face of a suddenly awkward subject of conversation. “Only did it to help with the tempting.”

“Ah. I see.” Remarked Aziraphale. He still sounded vaguely put out for some reason. 

“I’d never have known that you hadn’t kissed anyone before.” Crowley continued, wanting to remove the sullen look from Azirapahle’s face. “You’re quite good at it.”

“Am I?” This won Crowley a bright smile. 

“Yeah. You kiss like a pro angel.”

“Oh, well, thank you for saying so Crowley.” Aziraphale’s little smile stayed on his face while he finished plumping up the pillow and then turned away to wash the wine glasses in the sink of his kitchenette, and Crowley felt relieved that he’d been able to improve the angel’s mood. 

Crowley sauntered his way over to the kitchenette and leaned against the doorframe, affecting the most casual tone and posture he could muster, which, to be fair, was quite casual. He’d had six thousand plus years to practice. “Those wankers, Gabriel and Beelzebub wanted us to go out on… dates didn’t they? Any idea when and where that’s going to happen? Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

Aziraphale stopped washing the dishes and closed off the tap before turning to address Crowley, wiping his hands dry on a dishtowel he kept by the sink. “Hmmm.” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps a walk in the park? Or a trip to the museum? Or perhaps a trip to that lovely cafe that just opened up a few blocks over?”

Crowley had been unprepared for the onslaught of date ideas, expecting to have to convince Aziraphale to go somewhere with him to act out this awkward charade. Apparently, the angel had given this some thought. “Oh, well, that cafe sounds nice. We could start small. Plus, they won’t expect us to be too affectionate at a cafe. Maybe some light hand holding.”

Aziraphale nodded, his face serious, as if he were working on solving a complex mathematics equation. “Yes, that does sound like a good first date,” he said. 

“Alright then,” Crowley said, pulling himself up from where he’d been leaning against the door frame. “I think I’ll head home tonight, water the plants, sort out some things.”  _ masturbate furiously while replaying what it felt like to have your lips against mine _ “Shall we meet up at the cafe tomorrow? Say, around noon?” 

Aziraphale nodded and gave Crowley a soft smile that made a warm feeling spread though the demon’s chest. “That sounds lovely. That will give me some time to reshelve some books and do some reading I’ve been putting off. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

“Alright then.” Crowley realized he was waiting for something. For Aziraphale to kiss him goodbye maybe? It surprised him how quickly he’d started wanting more physical contact with Aziraphale, though if he thought about it for a millisecond, it really shouldn’t have surprised him at all. “Have a good night angel.” 

“Good night, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, still giving him that soft little smile, and Crowley ripped his eyes away from the angel’s face and walked out of the shop. 

Once he was in the bently and headed home, driving at breakneck speeds through central London towards his Mayfair flat, the true reality of the situation started to sink in. He had to  _ pretend _ to be in love with Aziraphale for a full  _ month. _ He had to  _ pretend _ to be in love with a creature he was _ actually _ madly in love with, who, considering all the available evidence at Crowley’s disposal, did  _ not _ love him back. Oh sure, Aziraphale loved Crowley in a  _ way _ . Like he loved puppies and babies and sunsets and double decker busses and cake. Not the way Crowley loved Aziraphale, with a burning, all consuming romantic passion that had been flaming away inside his heart for the entirety of human history. 

“Oh shit” Crowley said to himself as he pulled up outside his flat. “Oh shit. You’re well and truly fucked.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The day had dawned, sunny and bright, and Gabriel might have actually been in a good mood this morning. Yes, he was forced to spend a lot more time down on earth, watching those two runaway imbeciles, Crowley and Aziraphale, trying to catch them in their obvious ruse, but also, he was spending more time with Beelzebub. He wasn’t quite sure when he’d decided that he liked the fierce little demon. It felt like a recent realization, but it was probably something that had been brewing for a while. There was just something appealing about how joyfully she dedicated herself to trying to make their insubordinates’ lives more miserable. The gleam in her eye when she’d helped him mock up that false inquest. The way she clenched her jaw when talking about Crowley. She really seemed to take a certain sort of dark glee from making Aziraphale and Crowley unhappy, and so did Gabriel. It was something very vital that they had in common. 

And, well, she was rather pretty. That thought flitted through his mind unbidden whenever he saw her face, up here on earth. Down in the pits of Hell, she was really quite grotesque looking, but topside? She was, well, she was quite attractive. Gabriel wasn’t comfortable with these thoughts, and so he only entertained them rarely and briefly, before focusing in on the task at hand. 

Beelzebub for her part was polite enough. She knew they had a job to do, and she treated Gabriel with a grudging respect. Outside of that, she acted as if he didn’t exist, which strangely made her even more appealing. 

At the moment, they’d tracked down the irritating angel and demon, who seemed to be out on a date at a cafe near the angel’s bookshop. Gabriel had procured a nondescript vehicle, and they were sitting side by side on the front seat, peering at the pair through binoculars. Hopefully Aziraphale and Crowley would stay put for a while, because Gabriel had never learned to drive, and he doubted Beelzebub could either. 

No matter though. They had a secluded and comfortable place from which to watch the pair. Gabriel had done some research in preparation for this little stakeout. First, he’d learned what the term “stakeout” actually meant. Apparently, it had nothing to do with cow’s meat, as he’d originally thought. Instead, it turned out to be a thing American police officers did when spying on suspected criminals. They sat in a car, just like he and Beelzebub were doing, and ate donuts and looked through binoculars and… bonded with each other in a gruff sort of way. 

Well, they had the car. They had the binoculars. Gabriel didn’t eat donuts, and he doubted Beelzebub did either… but perhaps, they could engage in some bonding?

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Gabriel asked, lowering his pair of binoculars and sneaking a sideways glance at Beelzebub. She had forgone her usual dark suit, in favor of a pair of well-fitted, tattered jeans and a black t-shirt. Her hair, a black mop atop her head. She looked really… nice? Perhaps that was the wrong word. Gabriel found it difficult to keep himself from trying to catch glimpses of her slender legs, encased as they were in tight jeans. What was it with demons and their tight clothing? Crowley dressed like an aging rock star most of the time, and Beelzebub’s casual attire was along the same lines. Tight and black and somewhat revealing of her lithe, diminutive frame, in a way that made him squirm a bit in his seat. 

“I honestly don’t care,” she replied with a sniff. “I doubt it’s very interesting.” 

“Probably not,” agreed Gabriel. “Most likely they’re talking about fooling us with this ridiculous facade they’ve committed themselves to.”

“Well,” she replied darkly “they won’t fool us for long. A demon and an angel? In love? Disgusting.”

Gabriel nodded, feeling an uncomfortable twinge in the center of his chest at her negative, dismissive words. “Yeah,” he replied. “Horrible. Gross.”

“And besides,” continued Beelzebub, lowering her own binoculars and fixing Gabriel with a sharp look “I don’t even think it’s possible for them to…” here, she visibly suppressed a surge of nausea, “mate. They aren’t physically compatible.”

Gabriel was a touch surprised at her latest statement. “Incompatible how?” he asked. “They have all the right bits don’t they?”

“Well yeah. They have the right  _ bits _ , but I was always told that if an angel and a demon were to get into bed together, they’d probably explode. And not in a good way. In the sort of way where there’s a big, loud boom and, then both of them end up in bits splattered against the wall.”

“Huh. Well, that  _ does _ sound unpleasant.” Gabriel covered for his sudden and inexplicable sense of disappointment by lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. He watched as Aziraphale reached out a hand and placed it on top of Crowley’s, and shuddered. “They think they can fool us with hand holding. Pshaw! Anyone can hold hands and make it look genuine. Why, you and  _ I _ could hold hands without too much trouble. They’ll have to do better than that.” he cast another sideways glance at the small, black clad demon, trying to ascertain if she had an unpleasant reaction to the suggestion that they might make physical contact. 

She grimaced. Gabriel flinched. 

“Hand holding is for wimps,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “No one  _ holds hands _ Downstairs. Wouldn’t be caught dead doing something so  _ sentimental _ .” She imbued the word with as much derision as she possibly could. 

“Oh really?” Gabriel asked, suddenly curious. “Angels hold hands now and then. Nothing all that wrong with it. What do people do when they like each other Downstairs?”

“No one  _ likes _ anyone Downstairs,” Beezebub remarked, lowering her pair of binoculars and ruffling a hand through her black hair. “It’s not a thing demons do. Liking one another.”

“Ah. I see.” Gabriel said, and he really did understand her point. Angels were not an overly sentimental bunch either, but there were a few here and there who were softer and mushier of heart than others (Aziraphale being a prime example come to think of it). Those who leaned towards sentimentality did engage in some light cuddling and fond words with each other. It made Gabriel’s skin crawl. He’d never been one to yearn for soft things. Soft things meant weakness. Weakness meant a lack of motivation to go for one’s goals. Gabriel lived to serve Heaven’s broader purpose. He lived to do the avenging and threatening and smiting that angels used to be so well known for, before all this political correctness had them in endless boardroom meetings to decide how to move forward. 

Back at the beginning, Gabriel had been given a sword and two simple instructions.  _ Keep the humans in line.  _ And _ if you see a demon, smite it, and smite it good.  _ And he had complied with those instructions to the letter. He had done a  _ lot _ of smiting. Nowadays, they were required to keep in touch with The Opposition for the sake of  _ good sportsmanship, _ and so he hadn’t been able to haul off and stab demons in the gut like he’d used to, back at the beginning. Now, he had to ascertain their threat level and report back to head office to find out what to do next. 

Gabriel had quite a bit of autonomy as an Archangel. He was allowed to command a group of subordinates (Sandalphon, Uriel and Michael) and he got to make policy decisions on his own. Otherwise, he was supposed to gain approval for his movements from The Metatron, or from The Almighty Herself. He’d kind of gone off book a few hundred years ago and had spearheaded the move towards Armageddon while sort of  _ forgetting _ to check in with the Almighty about it. She had become more and more remote as the millennia passed by, and so Gabriel had conveniently started leaving Her out of the loop. 

This was how he and Beelzebub had ended up being humiliated on the Tadfield Airbase when Aziraphale and Crowley had reminded them about The Ineffable Plan. God’s Ineffable plan, which could, and probably _ did  _ differ quite a bit from  _ Gabriel’s _ plan to start a great war and destroy all the demons for good. Yes, God had told them long ago that another Great War was likely, but Gabriel had chosen to stop consulting Her on how it should be waged and had simply forged ahead on his own. Beelzebub had stepped up as his official opponent, and the two had worked together (and against each other) to prepare for utter annihilation of the other side. 

Gabriel hadn’t really given Beelzebub much thought in the intervening millennia. They’d spoken by telephone a few times while trying to organize the troops and coordinate with the biblical signs that would usher in the war, but outside of that, they hadn’t talked all that often. Now, they’d been thrown together by a common hatred of their wayward subordinates, and Gabriel was surprised at how easy it was to be in close association with a demon. 

Beelzebub wasn’t exactly friendly or cheerful, but she was equally dedicated to hunting down and destroying Crowley and Aziraphale, and that was quite a compelling point of connection between them. Sort of like two ladies who loved cats, or two gents who just happened to root for the same football team, they could bond uneasily over their loathing of the errant angel and demon currently making googly eyes at each other in the cafe several hundred yards away. 

The fact that Gabriel was highly distracted by the way Beelzebub’s tight jeans clung to her slender legs wasn’t something he was prepared to deal with in the current moment. Nor was he particularly comfortable with the way her sharp, commanding tone made his insides go all shivery. He was the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. He shouldn’t be feeling so unsettled and so deliciously weak around a  _ demon.  _ Even a Lord of Hell, a title that held the same respective rank as his own. 

He shoved thoughts of Beelzebub’s general appeal down into a secret place inside himself and peered again through the binoculars. They just  _ had _ to be faking it. They had to be. He knew the pair were friends. But lovers? The thought really did make him nauseous. Not because they were an angel and a demon, but because he disliked both of them so intensely. The concept of two people he outright loathed, getting naked and rubbing against each other was high up on the list of things he strove not to think about. 

He and Beelzebub would catch them eventually, and when they did, oh how sweet it would be to send the pair back to their respective headquarters to be dealt with. Hopefully in the most painful and drawn out manner possible. He grinned happily to himself, before sneaking another sideways glance at Beelzebub, who had also returned to looking through her own set of binoculars. She was grinning as well. 


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley watched from behind his dark shades as Aziraphale placed another delicate bite of angel food cake into his mouth and moaned in pleasure. Why oh why had he agreed to accompany Aziraphale to an establishment where he’d be forced to watch the angel eat? Especially after all that kissing they’d done the day before? 

Watching Aziraphale enjoy dessert had always been an experience fraught with an unsettling mix of pleasure and frustration for Crowley. Watching those soft lips envelop sweet forkfuls of sumptuous pastries and cakes and crepes. Watching those blue-gray eyes gleam with happiness, seeing those lashes flutter closed and hearing that satisfied moan from the angel as he ate. It was pronographic. 

He’d been watching Aziraphale eat, ever since ancient Rome when he’d first witnessed what Aziraphale could do to a plate of oysters. Before that point, he’d simply known Aziraphale as a lovely and unattainable angel. A pure soul. A pristine servant of The Lord. And then he’d seen the angel’s soft, expressive mouth and pink tongue teasing and sucking the tender flesh of the oysters from their shells, and he’d felt a shocking bolt of sexual energy spark through his groin at the sight of it. He’d had to struggle then, to keep Aziraphale from realizing what his eating was doing to Crowley’s body. And he still struggled a bit now and then. Especially after last night. Now, he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the hedonistic angel’s skilled mouth. Every drag of Aziraphale soft lips against the tines of his fork was accompanied with a heated fantasy about what it might feel like to have those lips dragging against something else entirely. Crowley squirmed uncomfortably in his chair and tried to look at anything other than Aziraphale’s pleasure wreathed face and busy mouth. 

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley swiftly averted his eyes to his coffee cup. “This cake is simply delightful. Crowley won’t you have a bite?” he asked, and Crowley could  _ feel _ the angel’s sparkling eyes on him, polite and solicitous, ready to offer him a piece of cake. 

“You know I don’t eat,” he grumped back at Aziraphale. “Enjoy it angel. I’ll just stick with coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” Aziraphale replied before lifting another carefully chosen bite, this one accompanied by a piece of sugared strawberry, to his lips and executing a happy sigh as he chewed. “Do you think we’ve shown each other enough affection yet?” he asked around the bite, and Crowley almost spit out his coffee.

“Why?” he asked, wiping a dribble of spilled brown liquid from his chin with a small white napkin and trying to act unaffected. “What do you think we should do? You’ve held my hand.”

“Well, perhaps you could, oh, I don’t know, feed me?” Aziraphale suggested, his tone going a bit shy and uncertain.

“Feed you?” Crowley felt his heart rate pick up. 

“Yes… don’t couples do that with each other?”

“Um… well… yes, sometimes I think. But it’s usually when one of them has food and the other doesn’t. You already have cake. Why would I feed it to you?”

“Just to be sweet,” remarked Aziraphale, his eyes drifting down to rest on his plate, his cheeks coloring prettily. “Just to… I don’t know. Take care of me.” His voice was very soft now. He sounded quite uncertain and shy all of a sudden. 

“Well sure. Ok. That works.” Crowley could no more refuse Aziraphale’s requests for different types of intimacy than he could turn his wings white or ascend back up into Heaven. “Here, hand me your fork.”

“I rather think you should take it from me dear,” Aziraphale reminded him, and Crowley nodded awkwardly.  _ Yes. that would make more sense _ . He thought numbly as he gingerly reached out and took Aziraphale’s fork from him. He carefully speared a forkful of angel food cake and candied strawberry and extended the bite toward the general direction of Aziraphale’s mouth, as his heart pounded in his ears. Aziraphale beamed happily and leaned forward, enveloping the proffered bite in his mouth. Crowley could feel the contact of Aziraphale’s soft lips closing on the bite of cake through the fork clasped in his hand, and he could feel the vibrations of Aziraphale’s happy moan as he pulled the bite of food from the metal tines, could feel it burning down the length of his arm and sparking a pool of intense heat in his low belly. His cock twitched, reminding him that it was still there and still alive and kicking, even after the workout he’d given it last night. 

“There,” Aziraphale mumbled happily around his bite of cake, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling. “That was very romantic of you. I think that will do nicely to convince them that we’re involved.”

“Sure, angel, sure,” Crowley rasped out, attempting valiantly to pretend like he didn’t want to climb into Aziraphale’s lap and chase that piece of cake with his tongue. “They’re probably eating it up. No pun intended.”

“You could feed me another bite, if you wanted,” Aziraphale prompted, looking at Crowley with expectant eyes. Crowley complied immediately, this time stabbing a giant strawberry on his fork and offering it to Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide, but he was up for the challenge. He gently enveloped the strawberry with his lips, keeping his eyes locked on Crowley’s as he pulled it slowly and sensually from the fork. Crowley couldn’t help but let a small moan escape his mouth.  _ Satan help me,  _ he thought desperately as he put the fork back onto Aziraphale’s plate and dropped his eyes from the angel’s smiling face. He was seconds away from launching himself into a filthy, full blown fantasy of Aziraphale sucking him off, and they were in  _ public _ . 

Last night, upon arriving home, he’d gone straight to his bedroom and stripped naked before laying down and wrapping a hand around his stiff cock, while thoughts of Aziraphale’s mouth and hands and eyes and soft shoulders dancing through his mind. He’d pulled himself to an earth shattering climax using the memory of the real life feel of Aziraphale’s lips against his own as extra fuel for the orgasmic fire. 

Never before had he had any actual experience of touching the angel in a sexual or romantic manner. Nothing more than a hand on the small of his back when helping him into a carriage, or a brush of fingers on the stem of a wine glass passed from hand to hand. Last night though, he’d  _ kissed _ Aziraphale. He’d felt the angel’s soft wet mouth opening so willingly against his own, had felt the angel’s strong arms pulling him in close and tight. It had taken less than a minute to stroke himself to a gut clenching climax with Aziraphale’s kisses in his mind and Aziraphale’s name on his lips. Afterwards, he’d lain, soiled and panting and full of shame as he’d come down from the high of his orgasm. 

Aziraphale didn’t want this with him. Aziraphale was open to kissing him in service of saving both of their lives, but he’d probably recoil in disgust at knowing that Crowley regularly wanked to thoughts of the angel’s voice and face and body. Angels simply weren’t built for that sort of thing were they?

Now, they sat across from each other in the light of day, and Crowley still couldn’t stop the searing hot thoughts of sex with Aziraphale from running through his mind. To be fair, watching the angel make love to a piece of cake wasn’t helping. Next time, they should definitely take a walk in the park. It would be easier on Crowley’s heart. 

Eventually, after Aziraphale had scraped up the last crumbs of his dessert with his fork, and they’d paid the bill, they rose and headed out to the car. Crowley scanned the street and the surrounding shops to see if he could spot Gabriel or Beelzebub, but if they  _ were _ there watching, they didn’t make themselves known. Of course they wouldn’t. That was the whole point of them spying on him and Aziraphale. To catch them acting like not-a-couple wasn’t it? That wouldn’t work very well if he and the angel could see them watching. Just to be safe, he opened the door for Aziraphale and delivered a swift peck to the angel’s cheek before Aziraphale climbed into the car. Aziraphale let out a little, surprised “oh” at the feel of Crowley’s lips against his cheek, but didn’t pull away or protest. 

They drove back to the bookshop in silence, Crowley nervously wondering what would happen when they were alone together behind closed doors again. Would Aziraphale want to practice kissing again? Crowley was torn. He longed to kiss Aziraphale all the time, but the thought of “faking” another kissing session for the sake of “practice” after that hot little moment over the cake was too much to contemplate right now. He felt keyed up and on edge. If he kissed Aziraphale now, he could easily see himself doing something very inappropriate and unwanted. Like trying to rip the angel’s waistcoat to pieces to get his hands on that silky soft skin. Or maybe saying something he shouldn’t in the heat of the moment. 

They pulled up outside the shop and Aziraphale got out, clearly expecting Crowley to come with him. 

“I think I’m going to head home angel. I’m a little tired from all this pretending,” Crowley mumbled, feeling like a heel, but knowing he should probably remove himself from the situation before he did something he’d regret. Aziraphale’s face fell at hearing Crowley’s words, but he rallied quickly. 

“Alright then my dear. Shall I see you again tomorrow? Or do you prefer to spend some more time apart?”

Crowley’s feeling of guilt deepened at the sad look in Aziriaphale’s eyes. The poor creature had no idea what pain Crowley was in, nor that he was the cause of it. And he had no way of understanding how Crowley burned with frustrated passion and unspent declarations of love and affection. How could he? 

“No, no, I’ll be around,” he said softly, hoping to remove the dejected expression from Aziraphale’s face. It worked, and the angel smiled happily at him. 

“Well then, see you tomorrow! Mind how you go!” he chirped before turning and making his way into his shop. Crowley squealed away towards home, resolving to keep his hands out of his pants for the rest of the evening. 


	6. Chapter 6

The following day, the errant pair had apparently decided to take a walk in the park. Gabriel and Beelzebub followed them on foot this time. Beelzebub suggested they should go in disguise. When Gabriel asked exactly how he should disguise himself when they’d made plans over the phone the evening before, she’d simply said “I don’t know. Dress… not like yourself.”

So Gabriel had decided to dress like a demon. Why not? It would be the last thing Aziraphale and Crowley would expect. He’d chosen clothes that would have made Crowley proud, wearing tight black trousers, a button down silk shirt in a dark red color, untucked, and a long black duster jacket. He miracled up a pair of dark brown leather boots, the kind motorcyclists always seemed to wear. He topped off the whole ensemble with a black baseball hat. Gabriel loathed baseball hats, but it shielded his face from the sun and from prying eyes, so it would help with the whole disguise aspect. He looked in the mirror in his gleaming, white and pale blue marble bed chamber in Heaven and didn’t even recognize himself. He was quite proud of the effort he’d put into changing his appearance, and quite curious about how Beelzebub would look.

They met in front of a small candy shop, just outside the park, and for a solid fifteen minutes, Gabriel couldn’t see the diminutive demon anywhere. A small woman in dark shades, wearing a yellow and pink floral print dress and pink kitten heels, her hair coiffed into pleasing ringlets sidled up to him. He almost jumped out of his skin when she pulled her shades down to shoot that piercing blue glance at him over the tops of them and he recognized Beelzebub.

“Dear lord in Heaven, is that  _ you _ ?!” he rasped in a hoarse whisper, his shocked eyes roaming up and down this floral print, feminine little woman standing before him. 

“You say  _ one _ nice word and I’ll rip your face off,” she said it softly, with a cheery tone under the imminent death threat. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t have anything nice I was planning on saying. You look kind of ridiculous actually. In this flowery get up? Much better in your normal clothes.”

This seemed to surprise the short, dark haired demon. She gave him an impressed looking once over in return. “You look better this way,” she said, giving him a steely, appraising look, and Gabriel felt something strange and warm fluttering inside his stomach. My but these human corporations sure did go through a lot of mood swings.

They decided eventually on heading to the park and keeping a low profile. Just a happy couple in love, strolling along the water and watching the ducks. Gabriel snuck a sideways glance at the small demon walking next to him in low, delicate heels. She was surprisingly adept at performing a believable human woman. She swung her narrow hips just a little bit as she walked, a motion that made her short curls bounce a bit, and her skirts flounce appealingly with each step. Gabriel realized that he was staring and wrenched his eyes forward again. Musn’t get caught ogling one’s adversary. 

Relatively soon, they caught sight of the couple they were stalking, sitting on a bench a ways further down the walk. It was hard to miss them really, what with Aziraphale’s pale suit and wild white hair and Crowley’s bright auburn hair and stupid black outfit. They looked like salt and pepper shakers. Salt and pepper shakers who were  _ pretending _ to be in love. Even from this distance, he could see that they were holding hands. Again. He shuddered with distaste.

He felt Beelzebub falter beside him, as she also spotted the two, probably afraid to walk past the doltish duo, for fear they’d be recognized. To turn around and walk in the other direction though, would have been even riskier, would have drawn more attention to them, so Gabriel stepped up closer to Beelzebub and intertwined their arms, carrying them forwards with the shear size and weight of his six foot, six inch frame. Beelzebub huffed a little at the sudden physical contact, but refrained from ripping his face off and let herself be carried along by Gabriel’s steam train of a body. They walked past the pair on the bench, keeping their eyes fixed on the path before them, trying to act as natural as possible, even though the extreme discomfort of having Beelzebub’s slender little arm linked with his far larger, thicker one was making his insides flip over and turn inside out a little bit. 

Her hair smelled nice.  _ Oh dear. _ That couldn’t be a good thought could it? This close up, he could look down and see that her long, light brown lashes, that clashed so interestingly with her black hair, were fluttering behind the dark shades she wore. He could see her diminutive chest move up and down faster with the nervous excitement of trying to walk past a mark without getting spotted, and he understood the thrill. But if he were honest, he was thrilled more by her closeness than by the possibility of being recognized by tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber on the bench over there. He’d never been this close to a demon without trying to eviscerate it before. He’d never enjoyed a demon’s company before. 

He felt her pull her arm from his with another impatient huff, and realized that they’d gone far enough past where Aziraphale and Crowley sat, that they could revert to their normal behavior. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she tugged irritably at the waistband of her dress and swiped a black curl out of her face with the graceless back of her small, pale hand. 

“You should ask before you grab a Lord of Hell like that, Gabriel. Next time, you might get significantly less of your arm back afterwards.”

Gabriel only grinned. “Lord, Duke, whatever. You realize I could flick you a hundred yards like a dead gnat with the snap of my finger don’t you?”

“You’re a pompous arse,” she said, clearly regaining some of the composure she’d had before he’d grabbed her by the arm, but there was also an edge to her voice. A warning Gabriel decided to ignore.

“And you, are an insignificant housefly, but we still need to work together,” he countered, 

Suddenly, Beelzebub rounded on him, her eyes flashing. “No,” she said, deadly quiet. “We  _ don’t _ have to work together. I could actually do this on my own, without you being a big, lumbering stick in the mud.” She stamped her foot just a little and had gone red in the face. It was surprisingly adorable.

Gabriel snickered a little “It’s really hard to take anything you say seriously when you’re wearing that stupid dress,” he said, giving her a once over, a sneer on his face. 

Before he could say anything else however, she was advancing on him, her eyes ablaze with glimmering rage, her limbs stiff, movements jerky. She crowded him up against one of the trees that lined the walkway, as if she were twice his size, and pinned him against the bark with a fierce look, her small ribcage heaving with deep breaths, rage etched over every feature of her face. 

Gabriel felt an intense flush of unusual tingles clench tightly in his lower belly at the sight of the enraged little demon with the deceptively sweet face, trying to get up in his, her eyes boring holes into his head as she trembled with ire. “You. Take. That. Back,” she said through clenched teeth, her lips pulled back in a rictus. Her eyes flashing dangerously.

“I...I.. I’m sorry.” Gabriel managed to stammer out past the weakness in his limbs and the shortness of breath and the fact that he was feeling sexual desire inside a human corporation for the first time in his very, very long life. “Your dress is fine.” 

Dear Heavenly Harps, she was gorgeous. And not because of her feminine get up. Gabriel honestly preferred her dark suits and ratty jeans to this brightly colored frock she currently had on. No, it wasn’t her clothing that was getting him going like this. It was her intense, angry face, her trembling upper lip, her flushed cheeks and flashing, ice blue eyes. And the commanding tone in her voice.  _ Dear lord, _ Gabriel wanted her to tell him what to do. He was so tired of telling people what to do. He’d been bossing his subordinates around for six thousand gosh darn years, and he longed for someone else to take the reigns. 

They stood there for a few heart pounding seconds, both of their chests rising and falling swiftly, their eyes locked. He watched Beelzebub’s face change slowly from an expression of simmering rage, to one of simple anger, to one of confusion as her anger bled out of her. She stepped back swiftly, looking down at her feet, cheeks going even redder in embarrassment than they had in rage. “Whatever,” she mumbled. “Just don’t get in my way.”

And with that, she’d stalked away from him, leaving Gabriel to lean against the tree and willing his body to stop reacting the way that it was, and just go back to its normal factory settings. 

What had just happened? She had intimidated him, had crowded him up against a tree and demanded that he take back what he’d said, and Gabriel had felt his knees go weak and his stomach turn to butterflies. It defied definition. That a  _ demon _ could make him feel this way. 

Eventually, as his pulse slowed to a more normal pace, he stood up and straightened his dark clothing, screwed his baseball cap back down over his eyes and strode after her. His legs were twice as long as hers, and so he caught up with her easily a few meters further down the path. They were now farther away from Aziraphale and Crowley, but could still see the irritating pair, looking like the bride and groom figurines on top of a wedding cake, through the sparse trees that lined the path. 

“Hey,” Gabriel said, still a little breathless, despite the fact that he considered himself to be in exemplary shape. “Hey, slow down, we still have a job to do.”

That seemed to get through to Beelzebub, and she did slow down a little so that they could walk side by side again. “They’re just sitting, holding hands,” she spat out of the side of her mouth, refusing to look in his direction, still stiff and offended. 

“Yeah. Doesn’t look all that believable to me,” muttered Gabriel. He cast another sideways glance at the pair through the trees as he and Beelzebub rounded a corner and drew a little closer. “Oh dear lord in Heaven, they’re kissing now,” he choked out in a strained voice, as he saw the angel lean over and press his lips against the demon’s cheek. The demon stiffened. 

“That’s not real kissing. Just on the cheek,” Beelzebub remarked, and Gabriel had to admit she had a point. 

“You’re right.” he said. “That’s the least disgusting kind of kissing they could participate in. Easy to fake. They’re so clearly faking this. Look at how uncomfortable that stupid demon is when the angel kisses him.”

They continued walking, and the closer they drew to the angel and demon on the bench, the closer Gabriel felt himself walking to Beelzebub. She let him. They were masquerading as a couple after all, but this time, he didn’t press his luck by trying to touch her. As they passed the pair again, Gabriel heard Aziraphale pipe up and say “You look ever so handsome today my dear.”

Yuck. 

They walked past the pair again, and Gabriel could feel Beelzebub physically relax next to him. “I don’t think we can gain much more information from watching them today,” he said, knowing she hated this and wanted to escape. One more pass around the park and then we should call it quits.”

“Sounds good” she mumbled, “these shoes are bloody murder on my feet.” 


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t think they’re buying it,” Crowley remarked, watching Beelzebub and Gabriel walk away. Admittedly, the pair had fooled them for a few minutes. It would have been impossible to recognize either of them in those ridiculous get ups had they not  _ smelled _ like an angel and a demon. Crowley had been shocked to realize that the faint whiff of brimstone he’d smelled was coming from the petite little woman in the bright colored dress and pink heels walking by with the tall man who looked like a thug from a Terminator film. 

The pair disappeared behind the trees for a moment and Crowley dared to relax a little. He was holding hands with Aziraphale, his palm sweating with nervousness in the angel’s warm grip. They made sure to put their hands, fingers interlaced, atop where their legs were pressed together on the bench, rather than sitting farther apart with their hands resting on the bench between them. More visible this way. More obvious.

“Of course they’re buying it, my dear.” Replied Aziraphale, sounding far more certain than Crowley felt. “What’s not to buy? We’re just a couple in love, holding hands on a bench on a lovely day. Nothing devious or dishonest going on here at all.”

“Can you believe those outfits?” Crowley turned to glance at Aziraphale and saw the angel grin. “I swear I’d never have recognized them they hadn’t gotten close enough for me to smell them.” 

“Same,” agreed Aziraphale with a small nod. “Gabriel always smells like Gabriel. Like ozone and smugness. I’d recognize him anywhere. But you’re right my dear. They do look very different. I wonder how they’re getting along.”

“Not well I’d wager,” Crowley said through a grin, imagining Beelzebub working happily with an angel on a common goal was an amusing one. He was certain they’d come to blows soon enough. It might be enough to derail their investigation, so in that case, he hoped they’d be at each other’s throats. No matter how uncomfortable it felt to pretend to be in love with someone he was in fact very much in love with, it was nothing compared with being separated from Aziraphale forever. Or Satan forbid, being violently and permanently discorporated. 

  
“Here they come again,” Aziraphale whispered out of the side of his mouth. “I’m going to kiss on the cheek alright?” And before Crowley could say anything, Aziraphale had leaned over and placed a soft kiss to the side of Crowley’s face, just over the small tattoo near his ear. Crowley felt his chest and face flush with heat and he stiffened, fighting the urge to turn his face and capture the angel’s lips with his own. Ironically, that would have been a good thing to do, but he found himself losing courage in the face of them being in public, watched by their superiors. It felt like a performance, and not what he wanted it to be. Heartfelt and loving. 

The Archangel and Lord of Hell walked by a second time, looking all the world like a normal couple (if mismatched a bit fashion-wise) and continued on around the curving path, out of sight a second time. Just to lay it on a bit thicker, Aziraphale told Crowley that he looked very handsome, making sure his voice would carry so that the other angelic and demonic pair would hear him.

“That was good I think,” Aziraphale remarked, sounding nervous. Their hands were quite sweaty where they were joined atop their knees and Crowley disengaged briefly to wipe his palm down the length of his thigh before gripping the angel’s hand in his own again. 

“Yeah, it was alright, but it still feels awkward,” Crowley responded, heart starting to pound in his ears. “I think we need more practice. Later. When we get back to your place.” He shot a glance at Aziraphale’s face from behind his dark glasses and saw the angel’s cheeks color slightly. 

“Yes. Yes. I think that would be prudent,” Aziraphale agreed, nodding a little to show his ascent. “Practice makes perfect they say.”

Crowley suppressed the moan he felt rising in the back of his throat and turned it into a polite cough. “Well then… perhaps we should head home now? No point in sitting here, trying to look like a couple if we’re still in need of … practice,” he finished awkwardly.

“Very well then,” Aziraphale rose, still keeping Crowley’s hand in his and Crowley swiftly got up to join him, and together they walked back towards the entrance to the park. In very little time, they’d reached the bookshop and ceased holding hands so that Aziraphale could unlock the doors and let them both inside. 

“Would you like some tea, my dear?” he asked politely, heading towards the back of the shop to his small sitting room.

“Got anything stronger?” Crowley asked. He needed liquid courage if they’d be ‘practicing’ again. 

“Why certainly. I just obtained a nice bottle of Balvenie if you’d like.”

“Sounds great,” Crowley replied, secretly impressed that Aziraphale casually kept twelve hundred pound scotch whiskey on the premises. He made himself comfortable on the sofa and tried to still the pounding of his heart. His heart wouldn’t listen. It, like his brain, was keenly aware that he might be snogging Aziraphale soon, and both of them were working in tandem to try and kill him with nerves. 

He gratefully accepted the tumbler of amber liquid that Aziraphale handed him and knocked it back in three swift gulps.

“Really my dear. This is meant to be sipped.” Aziraphale chided him gently, as he took a seat by Crowley’s side. 

“Then bring me something I can gulp.” Crowley responded with a sly grin, removing his glasses and tossing them to the other side of the sofa. 

“No, it’s fine. I can simply magic up another bottle if we drink this one too quickly. There have to be  _ some _ benefits to being an angel.” Aziraphale took a contemplative sip of his own scotch while Crowley reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink. He took his time with this one, sipping slowly while they sat together in silence for a few moments. 

“I’m still rather nervous with this little arrangement.” Aziraphale said, after another sip. “It doesn’t feel as comfortable as it should for how long we’ve known each other.”

“Yeah. I know. We’ve just never been,...  _ this way _ with each other before. So it’s bound to take some getting used to.”

“That’s why I think this practicing idea of yours is quite a good one,” Aziraphale remarked, taking a final sip before putting his tumbler down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Well,” he let out a sigh and rubbed his hands together nervously in his lap. “Shall we get started?”

Crowley nodded, feeling his heart kick into high gear as he too put his glass down and turned towards the angel. “How should we-?”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Aziraphale had grabbed him by the face and pulled him immediately into a kiss. His mind went all foggy and his body lit up like a Christmas tree as he felt their mouths collide and heard Aziraphale give off a soft little grunt as their lips blended together. He surrendered himself immediately to the kiss, opening his mouth against Aziraphale’s, feeling their tongues sliding together in a soft, sensual dance that had sharp pangs of lust twisting in his gut. 

Aziraphale pulled back after a heart pounding minute or two, panting and flushed. “Sorry dear boy. I, I didn’t mean to be so sudden. My timing goes all spotty when I get nervous.”

“S’alright,” Crowley mumbled, “No complaints here.” His body had gone into overdrive, and he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t get his lips back on Aziraphale’s soon. He leaned forward and kissed the angel again, this time scooting a bit closer and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, pressing their chests together as he turned towards the angel on the sofa. He felt Aziraphale’s arms come around Crowley’s waist and squeeze him tight as the kiss deepened again.  _ Dear Satan _ , this felt so good. Crowley lost himself in the hot, slick rhythm of Aziraphale’s mouth against his own. He knew he was erect by the tight pleasurable pressure radiating from that part of him, and he hoped Aziraphale couldn’t feel his stiff cock through his trousers as they continued snogging. 

Aziraphale was making the loveliest noises, soft little moans, cute little squeaking sounds, and his arms were pulling Crowley tighter against him. Things were sort of spiraling out of control very quickly, and yet, Crowley couldn't care less. If the angel wanted to rip all of his clothes off and have him right here on the sofa, he’d be more than fine with that.  _ He _ however, was not about to make the first move. He kept his arms wrapped about Aziraphale’s neck, letting the angel pull him in close and squeeze him tightly, but not escalating further. He was nervous about Aziraphale sensing his raging erection and getting put off by it. 

After a few more minutes, during which Crowley was dimly aware that he was making some very embarrassing noises himself, Aziraphale pulled back a second time. “I think this would be easier, if you… well, if you got into my lap,” he said, and Crowley’s eyes rolled back into his skull before he could stop them. 

“That sounds very… educational,” he gasped, “but angel, there’s something I need you to be aware of if I’m going to get much closer.”

“Yes dear?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes drifting down to look at Crowley’s lips.

“I… well… I know angels don’t feel sexual feelings, but demons… well demons  _ do. _ And when we feel those feelings, well… a part of us… it… um… it  _ reacts _ . It’s all very normal and natural, but I didn’t want you to be put off.”

Aziraphale looked at him with wide, sparkling eyes. Was that mirth Crowley could see dancing in their blue-gray depths? “Are you trying to tell me that you have an erection Crowley?” the angel asked.

Crowley felt his face flush hot and he blinked in surprise. “Um… yes?” he hazarded, still reeling from Aziraphale’s bluntness. 

“Why would that be a problem? I’m fairly certain I’m sporting one as well,” Aziraphale continued, and Crowley had to work very hard not to splutter in disbelief. “Whoever gave you the impression that angels don’t feel sexual feelings?” Aziraphale asked. 

“You just… Well it’s just that you… you seem so… pure is all,” Crowley stammered. 

“Oh Crowley. These human bodies come fully functional. I am very capable of feeling sexual desire, and I  _ do _ feel it, every once in a while. I just don’t talk about it like you demons do. Your lot are so  _ dramatic _ , with your tempting and your wiles and so forth. I simply take care of the situation on my own and then go on about my day.”

Crowley felt his mouth drop open, multiple visions of Aziraphale masturbating fighting each other for the chance to be the first to dance before his mind’s eye.

“Don’t look so surprised my dear.” Aziraphale chided fondly, “I’ve been around on earth for six thousand years. Just as long as you have. I’ve seen a few things. So don’t feel self conscious. We’ll simply ignore those bits for now and focus on kissing shall we?”

“Alright angel,” Crowley said numbly, trying to act as if his whole worldview had not just been turned on its ear. 

“Now, would you mind…” Aziraphale tugged Crowley a bit closer, and so Crowley climbed into the angel’s broad, warm lap and settled himself atop those thick thighs. He immediately felt the evidence of Aziraphale’s arousal pressed against his own and tried very valiantly not to grind them together. Aziraphale captured his lips again in another kiss, and Crowley’s whole body was set aflame. He felt Aziraphale’s thick fingers work their way up into his hair, causing tingles to spill down his spine as they continued kissing. 

It was all a bit much. Being pressed against Azirapahle, feeling the thick hardness of his desire pressing against him, the angel’s strong arms pinning Crowley against his broad chest. Aziraphale’s heavenly smell filled his nostrils, the taste of him, the sounds of his soft grunts of pleasure as the kiss became more and more involved. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmured roughly against Aziraphale’s lips. “I’m finding it difficult to ignore my human parts. Perhaps we should stop for now?” 

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale was breathless too. Breathless and flushed and beautiful as Crowley pulled back and looked down into his dark, lust blown eyes. “Or… Or, you could, reach your pleasure with me. I wouldn’t mind,” he said. 

Crowley couldn’t believe his ears. “What?” he said numbly. 

“You could.. You know… rub against me. If you wanted to. I know it’s frustrating to get close to a sexual climax and then stop suddenly. I’d hate to put you through that when I’d be perfectly comfortable if we… helped each other out.”

_ Oh fuck _ thought Crowley. “Oh fuck,” he said out loud. “Angel. That’s really very generous of you.” He thought the decision to rut against Aziraphale until he exploded in pleasure would be an easy one, but he was honestly surprised to discover that he had reservations. If things were rough now, pretending to be in love with the angel, holding hands and kissing, how much more difficult would it be if he shared sexual intimacy with Aziraphale. If he let himself reach a climax in the angel’s warm arms, smelling his smell. Dear Satan, he’d be well and truly done for then. 

And the angel was so level headed about the whole thing. So casual and polite still. Yes, he was clearly aroused, but he wasn’t an absolute mess about it the way Crowley was. By the polite tone in Aziraphale’s voice, it sounded as if he were doing Crowley a favor by offering to help the demon get off with him. As if it were just another in a long line of kind acts the angel committed regularly as part of his celestial duties. 

Crowley felt his ardor cool a little in the face of the prospect that Aziraphale could be emotionally disconnected from this “practice” they were conducting. He pulled back further, scooting back a bit in the angel’s lap so that they weren’t pressed together so tightly. He needed room to think, and being this close to Aziraphale made thinking almost impossible. 

“On second thought,” he said, a part of his brain screaming at him that he was being the world’s biggest dolt, “I think I’ll call it a night. I have some stuff to do at home. I appreciate the offer, truly I do angel.” He clambered off Aziraphale’s lap as he said so. “Plants to water. Humans to tempt. I’ll come back tomorrow, yes?” He stood, trying to subtly hide his still raging erection and fighting to keep from staring down at the prominent tent in Aziraphale’s trousers. 

Aziraphale actually looked a bit put out. His face fading from breathless passion as worry crept in around his eyes and his mouth turned downward in a small frown. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, dear boy,” he said, and it broke Crowley’s heart just a little bit to hear the disappointment and worry in the angel’s tone. “I didn’t mean to impose.”

“No! No angel. Everything is just fine. You were being perfectly… polite. I just think we should save up some hot and heavy action for when we’re out and being spied on. Won’t do us any good in here will it?” he’d grabbed his coat and his shades and began backing his way towards the exit, keeping his voice light, but eager to get away from Aziraphale’s kind eyes and worried little frown as the angel stood to watch Crowley leave. 

“Alright then, Crowley dear. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Aziraphale certainly did seem unsettled, his frown deepening and his brow furrowing slightly as he readjusted his waistcoat and tugged his bow tie back into place, being that it had gone a little eschew when they’d been snogging madly on the sofa. 

Crowley nodded mutely, feeling awkward, and a bit like a heel as he turned to exit the shop. 

He drove home feeling a strange mix of sexual arousal and disappointment. He wanted Aziraphale, more than anything he’d ever wanted in all his long life. What else  _ was _ there to want really? Aside from a good glass of wine a nice nap? The angel was the most fascinating, lovely, interesting, intriguing, beautiful thing he’d seen in Hell or on earth. A flaming bright beacon that Crowley followed faithfully. But he couldn’t tag along after Aziraphale, pining away with unrequited love forever could he? It had to end somehow. With a confession and a rejection, or perhaps Crowley needed to go his own way and stop knocking on the angel’s door so often?

The thought of seeing less of the angel, or worse, of confessing his feelings only to be told that Aziraphale didn’t feel the same way was beyond painful, but perhaps something needed to be done before Crowley got any deeper into this dangerous facade of a fake relationship. A relationship he wanted more than anything, but couldn’t have. 

And this new development as it were. That Aziraphale felt sexual desire. That Aziraphale… touched himself. The thought had Crowley’s body sparking like a downed telephone wire. All this time, he’d simply assumed that the angel wasn’t interested in the messy, sticky, confusing desires of the flesh that plagued most humans (and one very besotted demon). And now, he knew that Aziraphale actually thought sexual things… actually masturbated to relieve sexual tension. This new bit of information had Crowley’s brain shorting out at regular intervals.

He managed somehow to put thoughts of their searing hot moments on the sofa out of his mind until he’d seen to his plants and stripped naked in preparation for sleep. He lay down in bed, feeling the silky smoothness of the sheets caressing his bare skin, and soon, memories of the passion he’d shared with Aziraphale came creeping back into his mind. Or, more accurately, rushing back. He brought up memories of the angel’s thick, strong arms wrapped around him, the angel’s soft mouth against his own. The way Aziraphale’s stiff, miraculously  _ there _ erection pressed against him, even through all those Victorian layers the angel wore. Aziraphale’s voice, tempting him to rub himself to climax against his thick, warm body. 

Crowley let out a low moan and wrapped his hand around the base of his now throbbing cock. He stroked himself lightly while imagining what would have happened if he hadn’t put a stop to their tryst on the sofa. He’d have rolled his hips, bringing their aching cocks into tight friction against each other. He’d have gripped Aziraphale’s soft hair in his hands and kissed him deep and thrust against him over and over, feeling himself tighten and twitch at the delicious heat and pressure of it all. His strokes on his cock quickened and he bit his lip, his mind filling with imaginings of what kind of noises Aziraphale would make as the two of them worked themselves closer and closer to a mutual orgasm. He imagined Aziraphale thrusting his hips up against Crowley, imagined little whines of need spilling from the angel’s throat. 

He was so close, picturing Aziraphale’s movements quickening along with his own, imagining the angel’s thick hands gripping his buttocks and pulling him flush against him.  _ Oh fuck _ , he tightened his grip on his cock and stroked himself faster still, feeling his climax tightening in his gut, his orgasm rushing towards him from deep inside. He imagined the heated gasp Aziraphale would give as he reached his pleasure, and that thought pushed him over the edge. He exploded with a loud yell as the tight, clenching waves of pleasure surged through him over and over, and he coated his pumping hand with hot sticky semen. 

Eventually, his gasps and moans slowed and ceased, and he lay limply, covered in his own mess, panting and drained by the intensity of his climax. Apparently, no amount of telling himself not to wank to thoughts of Aziraphale would get him to actually stop. He was powerless to resist the fantasies that coursed through his mind on a normal day, let alone immediately after being wrapped up in the angel’s warm arms. 

Crowley cleaned himself up with a snap and curled onto his side, letting his eyes drift closed as he pictured Aziraphale in bed with him, curled up behind him, keeping him warm and safe with a possessive arm around Crowley’s waist. He sank into a deep sleep imagining Aziraphale stroking his hair and murmuring sweet words in his ear. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping the perspective in this fic almost entirely from that of Gabriel and Crowley. Maybe because I think of them as being the more clueless members of this foursome? But I thought it would be fun to get a peek into Aziraphale and Beelzebub's thoughts as a little bridge before I get back to the Gabe/Crowley chorus. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

It took Aziraphale a long time to calm himself after Crowley left the bookshop. He’d thought for certain that the demon had wanted to go further with him sexually, but then, just when things were getting really good, Crowley had backed away, mumbling some lame excuse about watering his plants and not wanting to waste time being this sexual in private, when it didn’t further their cause of proving to Gabriel and Beelzebub that they were really together.

That part had stung quite a bit. Aziraphale thought he’d finally managed to get Crowley genuinely interested in having sex with him, outside of his normal demonish whiles, and then he’d gone and scared him away by being too eager. He’d been waiting for Crowley to make a move for six thousand years and he was uncertain how much more obvious he could be about it. He’d blushed and batted his eyes and called Crowley “dear boy” and placed a soft hand on his arm more times than he could count. He’d accepted all of Crowley’s gifts and little acts of service, treating them as (hopefully) signs that the demon was engaging in the world’s longest and most cautious courtship, and still, nothing. 

Aziraphale always made sure that Crowley knew how much he enjoyed his company, and that Crowley knew how much Aziraphale loved the little gifts he gave the angel. And Crowley continued helping and giving and being solicitous and friendly. He joked and teased Aziraphale like he’d always done, keeping up the ages old banter they’d developed between them throughout the centuries. After millennia of engaging in this achingly slow dance, Aziraphale felt certain that Crowley must return some of his feelings, but was at a loss for how to find out for sure. Avoiding the subject had become second nature. 

For many hundreds of years he’d kept his distance simply because it was not allowed to engage in that sort of fraternization with one’s enemy. His head had been so stuffed full of warnings about the devious nature of demons, that it had taken him quite a while to truly trust Crowley. It took the demon helping him, rescuing him, being there when Aziraphale needed him for many many centuries before Aziraphale could let go of the assumption that Crowley was a typical, devious demon. And still, all the while, even beneath the suspicion and distrust that were second nature to an angel when associating with a demon, he’d felt these feelings that he couldn’t deny.

By the time the demon had saved his books from destruction back in 1941, Aziraphale was utterly besotted. There were still lingering fears that Crowley was up to no good, in the way Aziraphale had assumed the Nazis were working for the demon. But even then, just the sight of Crowley’s narrow, handsome face and flashing yellow eyes made the angel’s heart skip a beat and his palms grow damp with nervous infatuation. The flames from that German bomb had burned away much of the last vestiges of his apprehension where the demon was concerned. 

He’d told Crowley today that he felt sexual feelings, that he’d taken care of them on his own and moved on about his day. He hadn’t however told the demon the whole truth, that it was  _ Crowley _ he always imagined when he touched himself. Crowley’s lovely dark copper hair and pale skin and his brilliant smile and his adorable scowl that made Aziraphale’s knees weak. It was Crowley’s name he sometimes shouted into the silent air of a closed bookshop when he came. But how could he say such a thing? Crowley seemed happy to keep up this facade of a relationship. He wasn’t cracking under the pressure, so why should Aziraphale?

Aziraphale wasn’t as brave as he’d previously assumed he’d been. Yes, he had wielded his flaming sword in the first Great Battle. Yes, he had faced any number of dangers in order to save his beloved humans from a variety of fates over the past six millennia. But this was simply doing his angelic duty. It took another kind of courage entirely to tell your sworn enemy, who had now become your best friend, that you loved him passionately, and that you spent far too much time thinking about what it would feel like to run your fingers through his dark red hair. 

What if Crowley didn’t return his feelings? What would happen to their friendship then? Would Crowley distance himself from Aziraphale? The thought was intolerable. He’d grown too used to the demon’s company over the centuries. The thought of Crowley avoiding him because of the romantic nature of Aziraphale’s feelings felt like a kind of death to Aziraphale.

Yes, the demon seemed to be courting him, but perhaps that was just his way. Demons wiled didn’t they? They tempted and flirted. It was in their nature. Just as being helpful and caring was in Aziraphale’s nature. And if it were a courtship, it had gone on far too long to do any good at this juncture. What was the point of a courtship if the suitor never proposed? If the relationship was never consummated? Just an endless dance is what it was. And Aziraphale was growing tired of dancing. He wanted to get off the dancefloor and into the bedroom.

He’d seen tonight as an opportune moment to draw Crowley out and dredge up the subject of their feelings for each other by welcoming Crowley to be sexual with him. And the demon had backed off. Again!

Aziraphale huffed in frustration as he went about ordering his sitting room and preparing for an evening of light reading. He never used miracles to clean up his shop if he could help it. It felt good and virtuous to do it by hand, and besides, he didn’t want any extra attention from Up Above if he could help it. 

All their hard won freedom had now been compromised by Gabriel and Beelzebub. Now they were stuck, pretending to feel something Aziraphale was genuinely feeling, and it was sort of ripping the angel up inside. The last thing he needed was to execute too many frivolous miracles and get them into even worse trouble.

He finished his straightening up and settled into his overstuffed armchair, a book of poetry in his lap and a cup of camomile tea at his elbow. He valiantly tried to push thoughts of Crowley from his mind, but they kept creeping in, causing him to reread the same lines over and over. Thoughts of Crowley’s smell, the feel of his hands in Aziraphale’s hair, his lips against Aziraphale’s lips danced through his head. He felt his cock stiffening under his trousers, reminding him that he hadn’t been able to reach orgasm with Crowley in his lap. He groaned and put the book aside. It seemed as if his human corporation was conspiring against him this evening. He’d just have to take care of the situation before he could relax and enjoy his reading. 

Unzipping himself, he reached a hand inside his trousers and palmed his already half hard cock over his pants, moaning softly at how good just that simple friction felt. Masturbation had been something he’d discovered relatively early on in his time on earth. Adam and Eve had never had time for self pleasuring, being that they spent so much time fighting for survival, shagging each other silly and having lots of babies, but a few hundred years further on, as their descendants peopled the earth, Aziraphale had noticed some people touching themselves in a very intent and enthusiastic way and seeming to reach sexual pleasure from it. He’d been surprised by the practice at first. It seemed silly and self absorbed. And of course he’d never reached sexual pleasure himself, being that there was no one (other than Crowley) that he wanted to do that sort of thing with.

And then one evening, after a visit from Crowley, wherein the two had sat side by side by a fire in the forest, after he’d laughed at Crowley’s jokes and admired Crowley’s yellow eyes and had caught a whiff of the delicious smell of the demon’s long, copper hair, his body had reacted strongly and he hadn’t been able to make that part of him stop stiffening up. His human sexual organ, thick and cylindrical and throbbing, had refused to let him pay attention to anything else, and the thoughts of Crowley’s smile had refused to leave his head. And so he’d decided to give this human practice of rubbing oneself a try. 

He’d been shocked at how very good it felt. Surprised at the tingling ache caused by the simple pressure of his own hand wrapped around his cock. It had taken some experimentation with speed and technique, but thirty or so minutes later, imagining that it was Crowley’s hand stroking him instead of his own, he’d had his first orgasm. It was indescribable, this pinching, burning ache that exploded into waves of pure pleasure. And the mess… he’d been prepared for it based on watching human males masturbate, but it still surprised him to have this hot liquid squirting out of the tip of his penis and going everywhere. Not a very elegant manner of reproduction. But then again, he supposed the stuff was intended to make its way into a female of the species, and Aziraphale was simply not interested in human women. Nor was he interested in human men. He was only apparently interested in one slender, red haired demon he’d been sworn to oppose at every turn. The irony wasn’t lost on Aziraphale. 

Now, thousands of years later, sitting in a comfortable armchair in his bookshop, Aziraphale settled in to rub one out yet again. He didn’t indulge all that regularly. Not every time he saw Crowley. Only when the urge to be with the demon became too much. Sighing with resignation, he pushed his trousers and pants down to the tops of his thighs and took his now fully erect cock in his hand. Closing his eyes, he pictured Crowley kneeling between his knees on the floor. Crowley asking oh so politely if he could suck Azirapahle’s cock. He pictured Crowley enveloping the head of his stiff prick between those lovely, expressive lips and moaned as he worked himself with his hand. It didn’t take long. Imagining what Crowley’s lips and tongue would feel like against the tortured flesh of his cock was a well worn and very effective fantasy. Soon, he was on the edge, his thighs trembling and his hand working himself with stiff, quick strokes as he imagined Crowley bobbing that dark copper head up and down on his cock. 

“Crowley darling. Oh God,  _ Crowley, _ ” he groaned out as the movement of his hand pushed him over the edge and he felt his insides clench and pulse. It was a very strong orgasm. One that wrung him out a bit, and almost had him drifting off to unconsciousness in its aftermath. His now softening prick still grasped loosely in his hand, he closed his eyes and revelled for a moment in the afterglow. Eventually though, he cleaned himself up with a snap (some miracles were worth it), and pulled his pants and trousers back up. He ignored the familiar feelings of shame that usually accompanied an orgasm brought about by thoughts of his dear friend. It felt like a breach of privacy to do this while imagining Crowley in any number of compromising positions, but he knew he wasn’t about to stop, and so he simply got used to the shame. 

Eventually, he was able to focus in again on the book he’d set out to read before his mind had taken a decidedly un-angelic turn. He read until the early morning hours, and then set about reshelving some books, humming to himself while thoughts of a handsome demon followed him around the shop.

___________________________________________________

Beelzebub sat behind a desk piled high with papers, and sighed. She’d been spending far too much time topside with that infuriating archangel and had let the paperwork go too long unattended to. Paperwork was sneaky. If you turned away for more than a few minutes, it would start to pile up, and she had been up on earth for hours at a stretch, working on this ridiculous plan to catch Aziraphale and Crowley in their fake relationship. 

It was for a worthy cause, and yet, now she had to work overtime to get this paperwork done with. There were intake forms for newly damned souls, and scheduling of work shifts in the torture chambers, and a new Hellhound that had eaten his trainer and needed to be assigned a new disposible demon to feed and walk him. 

She sighed and ran a hand through her shaggy mop of glossy black hair. It felt incredibly good to be back in her dark suit and out of that flowery get up she’d worn to spy on the angel and the demon in the park. Her feet still hurt from those ridiculous shoes. Still, it had been an effective disguise. Even Gabriel hadn’t noticed her at first. 

Gabriel. 

He was becoming a bit of a problem. Not only was he so incredibly irritating and condescending, but he was altogether far too handsome on top of that. Beelzebub had never been known for sentimentality. And that was probably the largest understatement in human history. She was grumpiness incarnate. Her subordinates feared her, her compatriots loathed her. She was known for passing down extra harsh punishments, even for Hell, which was saying a lot. 

And yet Gabriel brought out different feelings inside her. He made her want to do things that she’d only ever felt in the context of torturing a damned soul in the bottomless pit. But, somehow the feelings she harbored for the obnoxious archangel were different than that. Yes, she wanted to tie him down, wanted to torture him and make him beg for release, but not in a murderous way… More in a way she didn’t quite understand. She wanted Gabriel to kiss her feet. She wanted to pull his head back with a hand clenched in his hair and watch how his throat moved. She wanted to make him beg… for what? For something shivery and unfamiliar. 

Her human corporation had started acting strangely around him when she was topside. She’d noticed it almost immediately. A tingling, shivering feeling that coursed through her limbs whenever he gave that smug smile. He made her angry, but also, he made the mysterious part between her legs all slippery, and she didn’t understand it. And so she hated it, being that she hated anything she didn’t understand. 

All she really knew is that she wanted to do things to him that were violent yet  _ not  _ violent. Wanted to hurt him yet  _ not _ hurt him. She wanted to take out all of her frustration and anger on him, but wanted him to… like it? How did that make any sense?

There had been a moment though, just earlier that afternoon in the park, when she’d lost control and crowded him up against that tree. When she’d threatened him, her face pulled into a mask of fury. He’d responded in a way she hadn’t expected. Being that he was a big, show offy head angel, she’d thought he’d have pushed back. Thought he’d have possibly physically accosted her. She hadn’t expected him to turn pink and for his eyes to go all dark and for his breathing to get all erratic. Nor had she expected her body to react so strongly. Seeing him, helpless, backed up against that tree, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dilated, looking so affected by her nearness had made that tingling sensation well up inside her again. And  _ again _ her human bits had gone slick and started to throb. It was beyond explanation. Perhaps she had what she’d heard referred to (in the sexual torture division) as a “kink”? Perhaps she  _ enjoyed _ intimidating big, strong angels and making them blush? Just the thought of it had her squirming in her office chair, so she supposed that must be it. 

And what was she to do about that? The official stance on angel-demon relationships was that they were strictly forbidden  _ and _ nauseatingly disgusting. And so Beelzebub had tried very hard to push these thoughts from her mind. She’d made a big show of how disgusting Aziraphale and Crowley’s supposed relationship was, and yet, she was plagued now with thoughts of doing strange things to Gabriel. It boggled the mind. 

What was worse, was that she’d started to care more about her appearance. It had been a few days now that she’d left off sporting the puss covered sores that usually adorned her face and neck, preferring to wear the creamy skinned human corporation, even when she was at home in Hell. She knew that Gabriel preferred the softer, smoother version of her and for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to don her horrid skin again. This caused her to have something in common with Crowley, and she didn’t like that at all. Crowley had never opted to look very demonic, preferring to wear his human corporation with pride, silky skin, lovely long hair and all. Beelzebub had always thought it inappropriate behavior for a demon to look attractive on the outside, but… Crowley was a lust demon afterall. It was his job to tempt. Not easy to do when you looked like an absolute disgusting mess like Hastur or Liger or Dagon. 

And so here she was, with clear skin and glossy hair, making sure to dress in her best suits, keeping her waistcoats pressed and starched, her nails manicured, all so a pompous ass of an archangel would be pleased. What was happening to her? 

Alarmingly, thoughts of Gabriel’s white smile and broad shoulders and cocky attitude had infiltrated her every day thoughts, making her forgetful and clumsy. Whatever was going on with her in regards to that insufferable angel was causing an  _ issue _ , and it was one she didn’t know how to deal with. So she simply ignored it. She went about her day, trying to focus on the work at hand, trying not to look forward too much to their next stakeout. 

Unfortunately, they’d signed on for a month of spying on that stupid pair. A month of hiding away in close quarters with Gabriel. A month of quality time with an archangel. 

Beelzebub growled at the stacks of paperwork and reached for the paper at the top of the stack closest to her on the desk. Might as well get started. She was meeting Gabriel again tomorrow morning for a fresh spate of spying. Had to get this handled before then. 

Stupid Gabriel. Stupid human vagina. Stupid everything. 


	9. Chapter 9

Gabriel straightened his lapels and waited for Beelzebub to appear. He was down the street from the angel’s bookshop, sitting in another hastily miracled vehicle, this time a large-ish van with a florist company logo on the side of it. He’d done some research, and at least in American films, this was typical for surveillance scenarios. 

He was nervous, waiting for Beelzebub. She was precisely thirteen minutes late. Gabriel _hated_ when people were late. He hated even more the fact that he was _looking forward_ to seeing the small, angry demon. Thoughts of her had been rattling around in his head ever since their showdown in the park two days ago. 

Aziraphale and his stupid demon friend hadn’t made plans for a couple of days, preferring apparently to spend time alone in their own residences. Gabriel absently wondered if this meant it was _more_ or _less_ likely that they were a couple. Couples very often opted to spend a little time apart. And also friends who’d conspired to thwart their home offices and avert Armageddon sometimes decided to spend time apart as well. Maybe because the thought of kissing one another in public made them physically ill? It was impossible at this juncture to tell which was which. He wanted Beelzebub’s opinion on it. Beelzebub who wasn’t here. Because she was _late._

He glanced out the window at the door of the shop, hoping that Crowley would arrive to take Aziraphale out and give him and Beelzebub something interesting to do. This sitting and waiting was boring. 

He heard a soft pop and smelled a faint whiff of sulphur, and suddenly Beelzebub was sitting in the passenger seat of their surveillance van. She was in shirt sleeves and a waistcoat and… suspenders. Gabriel swallowed thickly. 

“Good morning!” he said cheerily

“Hey,” she mumbled back. “Have they left the shop yet?”

“Actually, it’s just the angel. The demon hasn’t shown up yet. They haven’t seen one another in a couple of days.”

“Hmmm,” Beelzebub ran a hand through her hair and squinted out the window. She hadn’t looked at Gabriel since she’d appeared. “That’s strange,” she remarked. 

“Is it? See, I wanted to get your opinion, because I’m not sure if that’s unusual for a romantic relationship or not. A couple, spending two days apart when they live so close together in the first place.”

“It could mean anything. But if you were trying to prove how very much in love you were with someone, staying apart from them for two whole days doesn’t seem like a wise move.”

“So,” Gabriel leaned forward a little bit, looking intently at Beelzebub, who didn’t return his gaze, “if they really _were_ in love, this would be normal yes?”

“Yeh. I think so,” she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked tired. Gabriel wondered why. “Real couples do that I think.”

“You think? Have you ever?...” 

“No!” she snapped before he could finish the sentence. “I’ve never. You?” She asked, saying it like a challenge.

“Don’t be ridiculous” he said. “I’m an angel. We don’t go in for that sort of thing.”

“Oh, but demons _do_?” she countered, finally turning her sharp, pale blue eyes in his direction. His breath caught in his throat for a split second. 

“Well, your lot certainly do seem to have a lot of sex. I just assumed that you’d get involved with each other... or with humans or something.”

“Who says we have a lot of sex?” Beelzebub asked, incredulous, and Gabriel, against his will felt his cheeks heating up. 

“No one really… it’s just that you guys seem so invested in sinning… and lust is one of the Big Seven, so I just assumed…” he trailed off. 

“Fine, some of us do,” she relented. “Lust demons like Crowley, though something tells me he’s too much of a coward to seduce the humans. And if what he says about he and Aziraphale is true…“ she shuddered and redirected the course of the conversation “but most of us don’t bother. I’ve never… bothered,” she trailed off, sounding uncertain suddenly. 

“Oh.” Gabriel slowly processed this information. “I’ve never either.” he confessed, hoping to ease the discomfort of her confession that she was a virgin. “Seemed too messy. And you can only really do it with a human corporation, and I don’t like spending more time down here than I have to.” 

“So you’ve never… been… in love with anyone either?” she asked, sounding as if she had to force the words out of her mouth, as if they were unpleasant on her tongue. 

“No,” he said. “Never. You?”

“Of course not,” she said. 

“Fine. OK,” he replied, unsure of what to say next. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Whatever,” she huffed. 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the bookshop, and waiting for one of the idiotic pair to appear and do something interesting. The tension inside the van could only have been cut with a very sharp knife. Gabriel thought he might have said something wrong, but thinking back, Beelzebub had participated willingly in the conversation. So he just sat there, hands in his lap, staring out the window and resolutely _not_ looking at the grumpy demon sitting next to him. He also did _not_ notice how her rolled shirt sleeves made her wrists and hands look even more delicate and pale than normal, or how her suspenders accentuated her waist and shoulders. 

Suddenly, he was hit by inspiration. “Didn’t that pair have some human friends? Over in Tadfield?”

“Yeah,” Beelzebub said, not taking her eyes from the door of the shop. 

“Wasn’t there a crazy old lady with red hair they hung about with?” Gabriel pressed.

“uh huh. Why do you ask?”

“Well, what if we went and talked to some people they socialize with and ask them about the nature of their relationship? If they’re really dating, wouldn’t their friends know?”

Beelzebub slowly turned her pale eyes to his face. They widened in surprise. “That’s… that’s a brilliant idea,” she said. Gabriel hoped his face wasn’t too pink from the blush that was surely making its way across his cheeks. “If they’re faking it, then their friends would surely be able to tell.. Ohh!” she exclaimed and slapped her knee with such force that Gabriel jumped a little. “We could tell them we’re just friends of theirs and we were concerned that they’re on the outs and ask about the nature of their relationship.” 

“Yes!” Gabriel replied, the idea taking shape in his mind. “We could say we just stopped in because we’re in town and can’t find the pair, and we were just wondering if they were doing OK in the romance department because they haven’t wanted to spend time with us lately. Do you think they’ll buy that?” 

“They might,” she said thoughtfully. “Where shall we start?”

“Feel like taking a trip to Tadfield? We can be there in a snap,” he said with a mischievous grin, and was beyond pleased when Beelzebub returned it with one of her own. Her smile transformed her face from sullen cuteness to glowing beauty, and Gabriel tried not to reveal how affecting it was. 

“Lets go,” she said though her grin, and snapped her fingers. He snapped his, and in an instant, they were both standing many miles away, in a small village, outside of a lovely little cottage on a country lane. 

“This is where that witch lives.” explained Beelzebub. “The one who’s boyfriend broke the nuclear holocaust by pressing the wrong button,” she added with a sneer. 

“Oh. Yeah. Her,” replied Gabriel. He seemed to remember a young woman with long dark hair and a nervous young man clasping her hand on the airbase on that fateful day. 

The two of them walked together up the short path to the front door and Gabriel rapped on it with his knuckles. “Let’s play this casual” he said, sotto voce to her as they waited for someone to answer. “We’re just in town and want to see if our friends might be in the area.”

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Beelzebub. “She’ll recognize us. Quick, disguise yourself!” With a wave of her hand, she was back in her flowery get up and pink heels, her hair coiffed. Gabriel took her lead and snapped his fingers and found himself back in his dark clothing and a pair of sunglasses, just in time for the door to swing open. 

A beautiful young woman stood on the other side, a coffee mug in her hand. “Hello,” she said with a curious look. “How may I help you?” 

“Hi!” Gabriel piped up, being the friendlier and more outgoing of the two, between himself and the sullen Lord of Hell. “We’re here visiting our friends Aziraphale and Crowley and we can’t seem to find them anywhere. Are they by chance visiting you and your gentleman friend today?”

It was awkward, but it would have to do. Anathema ( _that_ was her name!) eyed them suspiciously. “You’re friends of Azi and Crowley?” she asked warily. “I don’t remember them mentioning having friends.”

“Yeah. We’re friends from way back,” Beelzebub said. “ _Way back,_ ” she repeated for emphasis. 

“Well they’re not here,” Anathema responded. “Haven’t you checked London? That’s where they spend most of their time. I only see them once a month or so when they come out for a visit.”

“London!” Gabriel slapped his hand to his forehead. “Yeah. We’re headed there next, but we were touring the English countryside for the day and thought we’d stop in to see if they were around.”

“You’re American,” Anathema said, with a small grin. “How are you liking it here?” 

“Oh, it’s awesome,” Gabriel replied, falling back on his limited knowledge of Americanisms to try and conform with her assumptions. “Really cool. Really ….amazeballs.” 

“Can we come in?” Beelzebub’s voice had gone up an octave or two and she had a bright, friendly smile on her face. “My feet are killing me in these heels and we’ve been driving for ages.”

“Yeah. Sure. Any friend of Azi and Crowley’s…“ Anathema trailed off as she let them in. 

Soon, the four of them, Anathema, Newt, Gabriel and Beelzebub were gathered around Anathema’s small kitchen table, mugs of coffee and tea in hand, chatting amiably. It always surprised Gabriel how gullible most humans were. Just show up out of the blue looking innocent and tell them they knew people in common and now they were chatting like old friends. It was a wonder more of them weren’t randomly murdered. 

After a few minutes of pleasantries, and after making significant eye contact with Beelzebub, Gabriel decided to press the subject a little. “So…” he began, “How have those two love birds been doing? We haven’t heard from them in a while, and we thought they were on the outs.”

“Love birds?” This from Newt, who paused with his tea cup partway to his mouth, eyes wide with surprise.  
  


“Oh! Are they an item?” Asked Anathema, clapping her hands. “How nice!”

“You didn’t know that?” Asked Beelzebub suspiciously, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward with interest. 

“Well, no. I mean, we suspected” Continued Anathema. “If I’m honest, I thought they were a couple the minute I first saw them. They’re so clearly hung up on each other. I just didn't know they’d gone that last step and made it official. They don’t really talk about that stuff with us.”

This was a mixed response. It neither confirmed nor denied their suspicions that the pair were faking it. Gabriel frowned a little in frustration. 

“I thought they were married,” remarked Newt. “But that’s just based on the fact that they’re always together and they keep gazing at each other like love sick turtle doves.”

Beelzebub shifted next to him and Gabriel felt himself growing irritable. “I think it’s interesting that they never told you they were an item,” he pressed, hoping to get the human couple to mess up and spill something new. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not really any of our business is it?” Anathema countered, raising her eyebrows at Gabriel over the rim of her mug as she took another sip of coffee. 

Gabriel shrugged. 

“Well,” Beelzebub cut in. “I think they’re having some trouble in the romance department. Aziraphale told us he’s been spending some time apart from Crowley. We’re just worried and thought you might be able to provide some insight.”

“Yeah, like I said,” Anathema countered. “Not really my business.” She paused, thoughtful for a moment. “But whatever it is, I’m sure they’ll work it out. I’ve honestly never seen two people so lost on each other.”

“Yes,” agreed Newt. “There are definitely feelings going on with those two.”

This didn’t answer their question definitively, and Gabriel felt his irritation grow. 

“Well, thanks for the refreshments” he said, standing suddenly. “Come on Beez. Let’s go.”

“Beez?” Anathema asked, suddenly curious. “You didn’t say your names.”

“Oh! I’m… Frank and this is Beatrice. We’re angels. And we’re friends of Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s.”

“Oh! Well that’s really cool!” Anathema exclaimed. “I’ve never met any other angels aside from Aziraphale. You guys must be really nice, like he is.” She smiled broadly at them both. 

“Yup,” Replied Beelzebub through clenched teeth. “We’re incredibly nice.” She smiled stiffly back at Newt and Anathema. “Well, Ga- Frank, we should get going yes? I know you wanted to visit the Oxford Museum of Natural History.” 

“Oh yes. Can’t wait!” Gabriel chirped as the diminutive demon grabbed him by the elbow and began pulling him towards the door. “Thanks for the coffee! Nice meeting you both!”

With that, he let Beelzebub lead him out the door and back onto the country lane that passed by the cottage. The minute the door was closed she dragged him even further up the street, away from the view from their windows, behind a hedgerow.

“Dear Satan! I thought I’d never get out of there.” she growled as the two slowed and stopped to talk about their next plans. “They were so very _nice_ and _sweet_ and _friendly_. I frankly found it nauseating.”

“Me too.” Replied Gabriel, and was surprised that it was true. And that he and Beelzebub had something in common. Neither of them reacted well to niceness. Demons were known for hating niceness, but angels… Gabriel had kept his hatred of soft, nice things under wraps for millennia, as angels were supposed to be made up of the kindest, nicest things in the universe. When they weren’t smiting people or turning them into pillars of salt that is. He never wanted anyone to treat him gently or softly. He far preferred roughness. And this might be why he felt so drawn to Beelzebub. There wasn’t a nice bone in her entire body. She was grump incarnate. 

“Who’s next on the list?” she asked, looking around down the picturesque country road, eyes narrowed with purpose. 

“The Youngs,” Gabriel replied. “We’ve kept files on Aziraphale and Crowley’s social connections and the Youngs, _the boy_ and his parents are next. Although, I’m pretty sure we should skip them, because Adam,” Gabriel and Beelzebub both flinched at the name of the ungrateful brat who’d brought about the true averting of the End of Days “would recognize us in an instant.”

“How about that crazy old lady with the red hair? She might be able to confirm or deny their involvement.” Beelzebub grimaced and slipped a small, pale foot out of her pink heels, wriggling her toes to get the feeling back into them. Gabriel had to avert his eyes. 

“Yeah. We can stop in on her next. She lives in London as well. With that ridiculous Sergeant Shadwell.”

“Lets stay away from him,” Beelzebub suggested. “He’s not right in the head.”

“Agreed.” Gabriel replied. 

After they identified the precise location of the old lady’s flat, they both snapped their fingers and were there in an instant. 

“Let me take the lead on this one,” Beelzebub said, elbowing her way in front of Gabriel and pressing the doorbell. 

“Fine with me,” he replied. He hated interacting with humans anyway. Why not let Beelzebub do the talking?

A minute later, the door swung open to reveal the old lady in question. She was dressed far more conservatively than usual, wearing a tasteful sweater and a tweed skirt, her blond hair smoothed into a sleek bob. She didn’t look nearly as flamboyant or flighty as she had on the airbase. 

“Hello!” Piped up Beelzebub. “We’re friends of Aziraphale’s. We’re a pair of… Christian missionaries, recently back from… Africa. We were hoping you’d seen him and his boyfriend Crowley? Can’t seem to find them anywhere.” 

Gabriel was impressed at Beelzebub’s skill at making up a random backstory so quickly on the spot. Never mind that he was dressed more like a thug from a Terminator film than a Christian missionary. 

The old lady’s eyebrows climbed up nearly to her hairline, a look of surprise painting its way across her face. “Oh my. Friends of Aziraphale’s you say?” The archangel noticed that she didn’t correct Beelzebub on the term ‘boyfriend’. At least not immediately.

“Yes!” cut in Gabriel cheerily, “We met at a monthly book… party”

“-club” corrected Beelzebub quietly

“Club! Yes. He runs a monthly book club and we met him there. We’re… erm… we’re married” He snapped his hand subtly behind his back and a pair of gold rings appeared on his and Beelzebub’s ring fingers. He saw her scowl at him out of the corner of his eye and ignored her. 

“Oh my. Well isn’t that lovely!” The woman’s face broke into a genuine smile, and Gabriel relaxed a bit. It seemed she was prepared to buy their story. “Won’t you come in for a spot of tea?” She asked, stepping away from the doorway to welcome them inside. 

“What was your name again ma’am?” This from Beelzebub, polite as can be. Gabriel marveled at her acting abilities. 

“They call me Madame Tracy,” she said. “Though you lot would likely disapprove of my line of work. You can just call me Tracy if you’d like.”

Gabriel and Beelzebub, giving each other curious looks at the mention of Tracy’s line of work, followed her up a set of stairs to the second floor where she led them through a door on the left, into her flat. It was decorated with silk scarves and posters of pin up girls from the 1950s. Old fashioned glass lampshades with dangling baubles and velvet table cloths were everywhere. Beelzebub nodded in approval and Gabriel swallowed down a wave of disapproving nausea. Human beings were oh so tasteless weren’t they? Very few of them understood the importance of clean lines and shining surfaces and good, solid marble. There were scads of distracting, gauche nick nacks strewn about every surface of Tracy’s flat, and it made him nervous. 

“Just have a seat over there on the sofa, and I’ll bring in the tea in two shakes,” said Tracy as she tottered into the kitchen on a pair of heels that were just a bit too high for a woman her age. “Mr. Shadwell is out at the moment. Gone to the market,” she explained, and both archangel and demon sighed in relief. No one liked Sergeant Shadwell except Tracy. Gabriel was relatively certain that even Aziraphale and Crowley hated the irritating man. He awkwardly approached Beelzebub, where she had already perched herself on the brocade, purple velvet sofa, unsure of how close to sit to her. He settled for picking a spot a foot away, folding his hands in his lap and looking around the room with obvious disgust. 

“Just look at all this awful furniture,” he said with a sneer. “And the way she puts red silk scarves over the top of every lamp. And all those… photographs. What line of work did you say this Madame Tracy was in?”

“I didn’t,” Beelzebub responded with a sniff. “I have no clue what this old bat does for a living. Apparently though, it’s something a pair of Christian missionaries would find distasteful, so I’ll probably like it.”

Beelzebub ceased speaking when her eyes settled on a black leather cat-o-nine tails hanging on a hook by a door, leading off from the sitting room. “Wha-?” she stammered, immediately rising to walk over to where the wicked looking implement was dangling on the wall. She reached a hand up to run her fingers over the strips of leather and the tightly bound handle of the whip, and Gabriel felt his mouth go dry suddenly.

“What do you think she does with this?” Beelzebub asked, sounding entranced. “I’ve used these before, but only in the torture pits of Hell. I have no clue what a nice, batty old human lady is doing with one.” 

“Huh. Very strange,” agreed Gabriel. “Not sure I want to know.” he said.

“I do,” replied Beelzebub, that dreamy tone still to her voice as she lifted the whip from the hook and let the leather strips run through her hand. Her eyes had gone soft and misty. Gabriel couldn’t guess at what she was thinking.

“Ah! I see you’ve found my whip!” Tracy was back, a large tea try in her hands, a pot and two cups as well as a plate of some uninspiring looking biscuits set upon it. Beelzebub started somewhat, but she didn’t put the whip down. 

“What do you do with this Madame?” she asked instead. 

“Oh child, things that your lot probably wouldn’t approve of. Though you do seem quite comfortable handling it,” she waggled her eyebrows as she put the tray down on the low table before the sofa. 

“What … what do you...do with it?” Beelzebub asked, looking genuinely curious. She’d probably only seen them as devices used for torture, and God only knew the circumstances under which she’d seen these things. 

“Well deary,” Madame Tracy looked thoughtful for a moment, as if carefully choosing which words to say next. “It’s a sort of… erm… a tool to aid in relaxation?”

“What sort of _relaxation_?” Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and she turned her attention away from Tracy and back down to the whip in her hand. “How could a whip be used to help someone… relax?”

“It’s a bit complicated,.” Madame Tracy continued, working her hands together nervously. “Some folks, well, some folks, they have a lot of stress in their day, and they like to… relax… by having someone they… they like… hit them... with things.” Her voice grew more and more cautious and hesitant as she continued with the sentence, as if bracing for some sort of outburst. But Beelzebub only looked more intrigued. 

“Hit them? How? Like in order to… hurt them?”

“In a way, yes. But also, in a way, no.... It hurts, but it also feels very good to some people.”

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, feeling his face heating up at the mention of people with stressful days needing to be hit by someone they liked in order to relax them. This was all sounding far _far_ too appealing to him at the moment. 

Beelzebub too seemed quite affected by Madame Tracy’s description, crude and incomplete as it was. Her cheeks had gone flushed and she was gripping the whip handle in a way that made Gabriel’s pulse race. 

“You see,” Madame Tracy continued, forging ahead bravely as she addressed what she assumed was a Christian missionary back from saving souls in Africa. “Some people very much enjoy being slapped around a bit, all for the sake of intimate, personal… ehem… relaxation.”

“Is this a sex thing?” Beelzebub asked, innocent as can be, and Gabriel watched as Tracy visibly relaxed, letting out a long breath and sagging a bit in relief. 

“Yes. Yes it is, deary. It’s very much to do with sex. Though.. not always... but we don’t need to go into all those details if you find this sort of subject off-putting.”

“Oh, I assure you, I find it quite fascinating,” Beelzebub swung the whip gently, letting the long, leather strips slap against her hand, and Gabriel felt his face grow even hotter. “Is this what you do for a living? Hit people so that they can relax?”

“I did,” Tracy said. “I’ve sort of put it to the side since Mr. S popped the question.”

“Which question?” Beelzebub asked

“He asked her to marry him,” Gabriel cut in, actually a little shocked that Beelzebub was so culturally naive. But then again, so was he. Perhaps angels had just watched more Hallmark Christmas movies than demons?

“But yes deary,” Tracy cut back in, walking over to Beelzebub and gently removing the whip from her hands, turning it over contemplatively for a moment. “I used to hit people for money. Men mostly.” She hung the whip back up on the hook on the wall and gestured to the tea tray, clearly trying to change the subject. “Won’t you have some tea poppet? It’ll get cold.”

Beelzebub reluctantly moved away from the whip and came back to sit down next to him and Gabriel was half relieved and half disappointed. He realized belatedly that he really liked the idea of Beelzebub hitting him with something like that whip. How would she do it? Why would that feel good? His head was swimming with questions, but they had a more important mission to tackle today. 

As Beelzebub reached to pour herself a cup of tea, Gabriel cleared his throat. “So, Aziraphale and Crowley. Have you seen them around?”

“Not for a little while deary, no.” Tracy replied, taking a seat in an ancient looking armchair that might have been called overstuffed thirty years ago but which was now just a shabby, brocade monstrosity in puce. “They’ve stopped by for a visit a few times, ever since… well ever since there was that big hullabaloo out in Tadfield, but I haven’t seen them for a few months. I hope the dears are alright.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Beelzebub cut in, holding her delicate tea cup on its delicate saucer. In her flowery dress and pink heels, she looked the perfect picture of a housewife visiting her neighbor for tea, from a bygone era. It was a strange look when you considered that she spent the rest of her time looking like that housewife’s husband in suspenders and dark suit jackets with her hair a black mop atop her head. Also that she was a Lord of the Underworld. “We only wanted to see them and haven’t been able to track them down.”

“Ah, well I wish I could help you, but the dears haven’t been around much of late. I think they aren’t fond of Mr. S.”

_No one is fond of Mr. S_ thought Gabriel uncharitably. “Well, now that the subject has been brought up,” Gabriel continued, trying to sound casual. “We were wondering if they had decided to um… take their relationship to the next level.”

“Do you mean are they shaggin?” Tracy said instantly, then blushed (just a little) and grinned at her own forward statement. “Sorry loves, I say it like I see it. No offense meant to God or Jesus.”

“Yes,” Gabriel affirmed, trying to keep the revulsion from his tone “Are they… in a romantic relationship?”

“I’ve no clue,” Tracy said, contemplatively nibbling on one of the biscuits from the plate she’d brought in. “But I must say, they do seem to like each other very much. I can usually tell that sort of thing. Just like I can tell that the two of you are very much in love.” She beamed at them as Beelzebub spit out her tea and Gabriel’s mouth dropped open. 

“Oh. Oh, erm… well… thank you.” He mumbled, his face burning, as beside him, Beelzebub grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her mouth and lap which were now spattered by droplets of earl gray. “Yes, we are rather fond of each other.” He could feel Beelzebub glaring at him, but he ignored her. 

“Yes, I can always tell,” continued Tracy, to Gabriel’s utter mortification. “You two seem to have an electricity about you that you don’t often see in married couples. Like there’s a lot of tension going on, but, you know, the good kind.” 

“Would you tell me more about how you hit men to help them relax?” asked Beelzebub, and Gabriel shot her a warning look, that she ignored of course. 

“If you’d like deary. I’m not sure that’s allowed in your religion….” she let the end of the sentence hang, as if waiting for one of them to retract Beelzebub’s question. 

“We’re from a very permissive sect of missionaries,” Beelzebub explained. “Our sect fully understands the varied ways in which human beings experience pleasures of the flesh. As long as it’s between a married couple, it’s all fine.” 

“Ah, well if that’s the case, then I’d be happy to explain further.” Tracy smiled in a way that seemed positively devilish, and Gabriel watched as Beelzebub smiled back. _Oh dear_. 

“So, when you hit men to help them relax, what exactly are you doing?” Beelzebub asked.

“Well dear, that all depends on what they want. Different men want different things. Some want me to say very mean things. Some want me to step on them in high heeled shoes. Some want slaps to the face, and some just love that whip on the wall over there.”

“What sort of mean things?” Beelzebub’s eyes were narrowed and her face was flushed again. She looked _very_ invested in learning more, and Gabriel swallowed thickly at the mental images of Beelzebub wielding one of those whips, standing over him, calling him names. 

“Oh all sorts of things. Sometimes it’s ‘bad little boy’, other times it’s ‘useless wanker’ or ‘stupid arsehole’.” She stopped for a moment “pardon my language yer lord and ladyship, I’m only telling the truth here.”

“It’s fine,” Beelzebub waved away her concern with a quick motion of her hand, clearly eager to find out more. 

“Alright then. Well, some of them like to be slapped in the face. Some like to have their hair pulled. Some like it when I whip them about the back or shoulders, or… pardon me, but some like being whipped on their bum.”

Gabriel cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. The descriptions of what Madame Tracy did to her clients was making him quite hot under the collar, and for some reason, seeing how fascinated and intrigued Beelzebub was by these descriptions was making his body react in ways that were not appropriate for a pleasant visit to an older lady for tea. 

“Ah, something tells me this one might enjoy something like that..” Tracy turned her grinning face in his direction and he was almost certain that an enterprising soul could cook an egg on his cheeks with how hot his face had become. 

Beelzebub turned to look at him too, her eyes suddenly shy. She looked… expectant?

“Well,” Gabriel replied cautiously “I’ve never done anything like that before. I wouldn’t know.”

“If you like, I could give the two of you lessons,” Tracy piped up. 

“I’d love that,” Beelzebub responded immediately and Gabriel whipped his head around to look at her in shock. 

“Darling,” he said, his voice full of an explicit warning tone he hoped she’d pick up on. “I don’t think… Jesus would approve of you learning how to whip me with a cat-o-nine tails.”

“I think Jesus would be fine with it,” she replied, glancing at him before turning her eyes back to Tracy. “When would work for you?”

“Do you have time now? Mr. S will be out for most of the day and we’ll have the place to ourselves. You two can stay completely dressed and I won’t teach you anything too intense.”

“I’d like that very much,” Beelzebub said to Tracy, then leaned over and whispered to Gabriel, her hot breath tickling the fine hairs inside his ear, making him shiver inside. “it’ll give me some pointers for the torture pits.” 

“Is your husband interested?” Tracy asked, then turned to address Gabriel. “You don’t have to sir. Consent is very important. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can just teach your lady wife a few things, or the two of you can go on your merry way. It’s all the same to me.”

Gabriel paused for a moment to consider. The thought of Beelzebub whipping him and calling him names was beyond appealing for some strange reason. The thought of giving over the iron control he labored under all day, every day for thousands of years and allowing himself to be used and tenderized by a fierce demon he was incredibly attracted to sounded like heaven. He was oh so tired of making all the decisions, of enforcing all the rules. Tired to death of bossing people around. He really would like to be the one being bossed for a while. To have someone else tell him exactly what to do and where to go. And of course, the slapping and whipping and name calling made his insides tense and his skin break out into goose pimples. The whole thing was very intriguing to him. 

“Yes. Yeah. Sure. That would be… interesting.” He replied, and was rewarded by a broad grin from Beelzebub that made his heart skip a beat. 

“Lovely!” exclaimed Tracy. “If you two wouldn’t mind, you could follow me to my dungeon.” She must have seen Gabriel’s concerned look, because she quickly amended. “It’s only my basement room deary. I’ve had it set up for this sort of thing.”

Gabriel rose and followed Beelzebub who followed Tracy to a set of stairs and down into the basement. The stairs were well lit and eventually, they descended into a nice, carpeted space with wood paneling on the walls. There were several pieces of furniture that were baffling to Gabriel. A black swing-type thing hung from the ceiling. A black, square frame with lots of black straps hanging from it at specific intervals. There were low benches (also in black) and something that looked like a saddle, sitting atop a low stand, festooned with ropes (also black). 

Beelzebub had gone very still beside him as she looked around the basement room. 

  
“Welcome to my dungeon!” Tracy chirped brightly. “I think I’ll start the two of you off slowly, so as not to scare your husband,” she winked at Beelzebub as she walked over to a table in the corner that displayed several whips, and what looked like riding crops and a large paddle. Gabriel felt his mouth go dry and his palms get damp at the sight of all these implements of torture. Things Beelzebub could very well use on _him_. He felt the anticipation over what was to transpire crawling up his spine with tingling fingers. 

“Now deary, I think it’s best to explain what all these implements are before we get started. This is a riding crop… normally used on horses, or.. disobedient husbands.” She winked at Gabriel and he swiftly looked away, feeling himself blush again. “And this, this is a paddle. Best used for spanking. This here is your average bondage rope. It’s nice and soft, see? So that you don’t cause too much damage to your man’s very nice skin.” Another wink from Tracy. “And this, this is… well. It’s something quite intimate, for his bum… or yours, whatever you prefer. We don’t have to use this today,” she said, putting the small, blunt plug in her hands down on the table again. 

Beelzebub’s eyes had lit up with a wicked sort of glee upon seeing all these instruments of torture. She reached out with a trembling hand to grasp the riding crop. “I like this one,” she said, her voice going all hushed and reverent. Gabriel felt his insides turn to butterflies at the sight of her slender, pale hand, clasping the thin, black stem of the riding crop. She gave it an experimental slap into the palm of her other hand and Gabriel was mortified to hear a small moan escape his lips. 

“Oooh. Someone else likes it as well!” Exclaimed Tracy, apparently unwilling to allow Gabriel the common decency of ignoring his embarrassing noise. “Here deary, you stay where you are, and Mr… “ she paused and Gabriel realize belatedly that they hadn’t given her their names. “Frank Archer,” he replied.  
  


“Mr. Archer, pleasure to meet you, and Mrs…” she trailed off, looking at Beelzebub expectantly. 

“Beatrice Archer,” she replied, grinning at Gabriel. 

“Well, Mrs. Archer, you can stay right there, and Mr. Archer, why don’t you stand with your back to your lady wife. What I’m going to ask her to do is to hit you lightly on the back with the crop and we’ll see how that feels. Is that alright deary?”

It was more than alright, but Gabriel nodded his ascent, and turned his back to Beelzebub. 

“Go on deary. Give him a gentle little slap.” 

Beelzebub whipped Gabriel across the shoulders with the crop, keeping her strike to a moderate pressure to start with. The feel of it, the very slight sting of the leather coated crop across his clothed shoulders only hinted at the type of pleasure he could gain from having her use it on his bare skin. He clenched his teeth to keep from gasping or moaning and felt his cock twitch, just a little bit inside his starched trousers. 

“There you go. How did that feel deary?” Tracy asked Gabriel, leaning over to see his face. 

“It was… good. She could do that a lot harder and I’d be fine with it,” he responded, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. 

“Yes, I suspect she could. Men have thicker skin than women and they can take a lot more pain. I’m sure that felt like a little love tap to a big, strapping man like you.” Tracy grinned up at him and he gave her a stiff smile in return. Tracy turned again to Beelzebub. “You heard the man deary. You can hit him harder.”

Beelzebub wasted no time in hauling off and whipping Gabriel with what felt like all the strength she had. This time, he _did_ gasp as he felt the stripe of white hot pain lance across his shoulders. _Oh_ he liked this. He liked this a lot.

“Was that alright?” Beelzebub asked, sounding a little concerned. 

“It was… It was great.” Gabriel erred on the side of subtlety, because saying _I want you to whip the Heavens out of me, you sexy creature_ would not have been appropriate or well received. 

“There now! Isn’t this nice.” Cooed Madame Tracy. “I always enjoy it when people discover the joys of BDSM.”

“BDSM?” Beelzebub asked the question that Gabriel had also wanted to voice. 

“Bondage and Discipline and Sado Masochism,” Tracy explained. “And well, dominance and submission. It’s all to do with power dynamics, deary. Giving up one’s power to another and letting that person do what they want with you, but… with your permission of course. Never without consent.”

Gabriel turned so that he was facing Tracy and Beelzebub again, hoping his face wasn’t too flushed from his recent whipping. “That all sounds very involved,” he said. 

“Well yes my dear, it has to be.” Remarked Tracy. “In order for everyone to get what they want but for everyone to stay safe as well.” 

He saw Beelzebub smirk out of the corner of his eye and knew this must be quite different than what she was used to. Torturing people who didn’t want to be tortured. 

“What’s next?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager. 

“Erm… we could try tying you up?” Tracy suggested, and Gabriel’s insides went all fluttery at the suggestion. 

“I’d be open to that. What about you dearest?” he asked Beelzebub, hoping she wasn’t too revolted at the pet name. But her eyes were alight with something he’d never seen before. She had a soft smile on her face, and she nodded eagerly. 

“That would be fine with me, _darling_.” She added just a bit of sardonic emphasis to her returned endearment. A nod to their pretend marriage. 

“Alright then!” piped Tracy. “If you’ll just come over here deary, I’ll show her how to tie you up. Do you want to take off that jacket my dear? It looks ever so stuffy.”

Gabriel nodded swiftly, shrugging off his jacket so that he was in his shirt sleeves and draping it over the nearby saddle thingy in the corner of the room. Was he imagining it, or had Beelzebub given him an appraising look? He saw her sharp blue eyes slowly travel across the width of his shoulders and down to his waist, before jerking up to his face again, her cheeks coloring. 

“So, you want to make the knots around his wrists tight enough so that he feels he wouldn’t be able to slip out of them, but not so tight that they cut off circulation or make him uncomfortable.” Tracy was saying as she instructed Beelzebub. Beelzebub was busy tying Gabriel’s left hand, and then his right to the large metal frame-thing in the center of the room. Gabriel’s brain had sort of gone sideways at this point. He was growing more and more aroused, praying that his burgeoning erection wasn’t all that visible inside his trousers. He was grateful for Tracy’s help, but he also sort of wished she’d leave him and Beelzebub alone together. Why? So she could have her way with him. So she could hit him and yell at him and whip him to her heart’s content. The thought alone made his body flush with expectant heat. 

“Now my dear,” Tracy was talking again, and it effectively knocked Gabriel out of his sordid fantasies. “What you want to do next is to negotiate what you’d like to accomplish with this experience. Mr. Archer, what would you like your wife to do to you? And what is Mrs. Archer comfortable with? These are very important questions. Otherwise, someone may end up getting hurt, or not getting what they want out of this.”

“I want her to whip me and tell me I’ve been bad.” The words flew out of Gabriel’s mouth before he could stop them. 

“Oh my! Well, it’s nice to hear that you know what you want. And you Mrs. Archer? Does that work for you as well?”

Gabriel looked over in time to see Beelzebub nod cautiously. 

“It’s best if you agree verbally, deary” Tracy prompted. “We don’t want to make any assumptions do we?”

“Y-yes.” Stuttered Beelzebub. “Yes, that’s fine with me. I’d like to do that.” She looked a sight, face flushed, chest rising and falling a bit faster, her mouth open and eyes sparkling. She looked… _turned on,_ aroused, just like Gabriel. The archangel was struck again with the realization that he felt feelings he probably shouldn’t feel towards his sworn enemy. Feelings that were taking a shape he didn’t want to look at too closely right now. 

“Alright then, it’s time to choose a safe word.” Said Tracy

“A what?” Asked Beelzebub.

“A safe word. So, when engaging in this sort of thing, some people want to feel free to say things like ‘no, don’t’ or ‘stop please’ without actually wanting their partner to stop. It helps them get into the mood to pretend… _not_ to want it as much as they do. So you can’t very well say ‘stop!’ if you’re in pain. Unless that’s what you decide upon as a safe word. But if it’s not, you need to choose a word, it can be random, or have a specific meaning, but either way, you can use it when you’re uncomfortable or scared or if you want the other person to stop what they’re doing. Does that make sense?”

It did. It made perfect sense. Gabriel could see himself quite enjoying doing a little begging while tied up and being whipped by Beelzebub. The thought of pleading with her to stop and having her ignore his request made his already stiff cock throb. “Yeah.” he croaked. “That does make sense.”

“Well then my dears, what safe word would you both like to use?”

“Brimstone” said Beelzebub, at exactly the same time as Gabriel said 

“Halo”. 

“Ah! What adorable safe words! And so well contrasted! Which one shall it be?”

“We could go with halo,” Beelzebub conceded. “I’m not likely to be the one using it, so, whatever works for him.”

Tracy nodded. “Halo it is!” she chirped. “Now shall I leave you two alone? I can be right outside the door if you need me.” Tracy looked expectantly at them. 

“Yes. Yes, that would be more comfortable for me.” Gabriel spoke up quickly, before Tracy removed the offer to leave. 

“Alright then. You two have fun. And remember, consent and communication are key.” She then tottered her way up the stairs. They could both hear the basement door squeak shut. 

Beelzebub looked at Gabriel. Gabriel looked back. 

“Erm. Is this OK with you?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t somehow engineered this whole situation without her being on board. 

“Yeah.” She replied with a shrug. “It’ll be great research for Hellish tortures Downstairs. You?”

“Oh yeah, sure. We do a fair bit of interrogation Upstairs too. Errant angels and whatnot.” he said, hoping that she’d buy his excuse. They really didn’t do this sort of thing Upstairs, but he couldn’t very well say _I just want you to hit me because it gets me sexually aroused,_ now could he?

“Alright then. Just say ‘halo’ if you want me to stop.” Beelzebub said, as she walked around to stand behind him. Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, but he never had the chance, because she hauled off and whipped him across the shoulders, with what felt like all the strength she had. All the air in his lungs left him in a rush, then was sucked back in as he gasped in shocked pleasure. 

“You’re a bad, _bad_ angel,” she said, her voice gone dark and commanding and she whipped him again. Harder this time. He gasped a second time and let out a strangled moan, his body reacting immediately to the feel of the riding crop across his shoulders and the sound of her disapproving voice in his ears. 

“Is this OK?” she asked, her voice lilting up slightly into a questioning tone.

“It’s… it’s… just fine.” he replied, panting and throbbing and hungry for more. “Please keep going.” 

“Please _Lord Beelzebub._ ” she corrected him, and he felt his eyes roll back in his head just a little at the sound of that command. 

“Please… L-Lord Beelzebub. Please wh-whip me again,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks catch fire and his cock straining against the zip of his trousers.

She hauled off and whipped him again. “Take it, you _bad_ angel. You _naughty_ , pompous, _cocky_ angel. I’ll show you who’s boss here.” She spoke through clenched teeth and delivered three more sharp lashes with the crop, one for ‘naughty’, one for ‘pompous’ and one for ‘cocky’, making Gabriel flinch with each strike. 

“Oh dear,” he gasped. “Oh my, this is.. This is… really good.”

“Shut up!” She yelled, and proceeded to whip him again, harder this time. Every lash of the crop against his shoulders and his back made his cock twitch in response. It was new and intense and insanely arousing to feel tied and helpless while a _demon_ spoke to him in the way no one had ever _dared_ speak to him before. People always respected Gabriel. They always kowtowed and grovelled and sought his approval. No one _ever_ told him to shut up, or called him _bad_ or had the guts to stand up to him, and here Beelzebub was, tiny, delicate looking Beelzebub with her fierce eyes and grim mouth, whipping him and calling him names. It felt… amazing. Fantastic. Like a dream come true. Why had he waited so long to experience this?

She walked around to his front and began whipping his chest and belly with the same fervor that she’d applied to his back and shoulders. “Do you like this my bad little angel?” she asked as she worked, and Gabriel nodded swiftly. “Say it!” she yelled and whipped him again, across the chest. “Say it out loud so I can hear it!” she commanded. 

“Yes! Yes!” he gasped. “Yes, I like it. I love it!” he yelled, not caring how he sounded, or what he admitted to. He had gone somewhere hazy and indistinct in his mind as his reality narrowed down to the feel of the white hot stripes of pleasurable pain criss-crossing his torso, and her commanding voice ringing in his ears. He realized quite belatedly that he was thrusting his pelvis towards her, thrusting his aching cock in desperate, jerking motions. His hips seemed to have developed a mind of their own, and he’d be mortified if he weren’t so incredibly turned on and lost in the spell of her sharp words and sharper blows. 

The whipping stopped for a moment and he felt the heat of her as she stepped into his personal space. He felt a hand clench in his hair and felt his head pulled back sharply so that he was forced to look into her ice blue eyes. “What have we here?” she asked, with a teasing tone to her voice. “It seems a certain big, tough archangel has an _erection_. Whatever shall we do about that?”

Gabriel had no response. He was a flushed, gasping mess at this point. She was utterly and completely in control of him, and he _loved_ it. Having her take the reigns, knowing he could stop her if he wanted to, but also that he _really_ didn’t want to stop her, was freeing in a way that bordered on dizzying. 

“Would you like this filthy, evil little demon to help you take care of this stiff cock?” she asked, and all Gabriel could do was moan. “Say it.” She demanded quietly. “Say it out loud. Tell me you want me to take care of your dirty little erection. Tell me you want the Lord of Hell to get you off,” she growled softly into his face. 

“Yes!” he gasped, panting, writhing, unable to control himself any longer. “Yes please, please take care of my cock.”

“Please take care of my cock who?” She prompted

“Please take care of my cock, Lord Beelzebub.” he spluttered, feeling his hips jerking again of their own accord. 

Beelzebub smiled wickedly and then reached a hand down and placed it over the bulge in his pants. The pressure of her hand, though slight, was enough to send shocking tingles of sexual pleasure to his very core, and he gasped anew. “Can you get off just from thrusting against my hand I wonder?” she said, sounding absent minded and casual in a way that had Gabriel whining and biting at his lower lip. She tightened her grip in his hair and pressed the palm of her hand against his cock harder and he couldn’t help but to thrust into that pressure. 

“Oh dear Lord.” he gasped, thrusting again. “Your hand feels so good Lord Beelzebub. Please give me more pressure. Please,” he begged shamelessly as he thrust against her again and again. Her lips curled up into a lopsided, self satisfied grin at seeing him so helpless. 

“That’s it. That’s it, you bad, bad angel. Work yourself up. Get yourself close. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll let you come against my hand like this.”

“Oh please. Please,” he begged again. “Please let me come.” He was already on the edge of something tense and tingling. He’d never experienced sexual climax before, but he’d heard countless humans describe it, and had witnessed it a few times when he’d stumbled into an awkward situation or two on prior visits to earth. He knew it was supposed to feel very good, and the way his lower abdomen was tightening and tingling, the way he felt an intense pressure building deep inside him, he felt certain that it would be memorable. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Beelzebub smirked. “That’s it, my bad little angel. Fuck my hand. Get yourself nice and hot and bothered. Do you want to come now?” she asked, and Gabriel could only gasp and nod. “Come for me,” she commanded, and he felt a wave rise up and crest inside him as he continued thrusting into her little hand. The pleasure was sharp and surprising, and he found himself moaning loudly as it tore through him with throbbing ripples. Eventually, he hung from the ropes that tied his hands, grateful for the supporting strength of the framework he was bound to, gasping and wrung out. 

He dared not lift his head to look at Beelzebub, but he could hear her harsh breathing, could feel the heat of her nearness. What had just happened? Dear lord! He’d just let… no… _begged_ a high ranking demon to rub him off while calling him names. He felt his cheeks getting hot and was instantly embarrassed by the way the breath was rasping in and out of his lungs in the aftermath of his first orgasm. 

It took him a minute to realize that her ragged breathing signified something other than exertion from dominating him. He risked a glance at her and saw that she had her hand up under her skirt and was working away at her sex, her face flushed and her mouth open. It was a beautiful sight, and he wanted to contribute to her pleasure, like she had contributed to his. 

He snapped his fingers and the ropes fell away and he fell onto his knees in front of her. Looking up at her, he asked “Is this OK? Can I…” he trailed off, but saw her nod and watched as she withdrew her hand from inside her pink pants. He swiftly ducked his head under her floral skirt and tugged her pants aside, to reveal her glistening vulva. It was dusted with a layer of light brown pubic hair and he could see her delicate, pink labia peeking out at him below the tempting looking nub of her clitorus. She was sopping wet, her natural lubricant leaking down to coat her inner thighs. 

Without any further preamble, he leaned in and tongued that dark pink little nub between her legs and heard her gasp. He wrapped his arms around her waist and continued his exploration with his tongue in the tangy, sweet tasting folds of her vulva, while she gripped his head tightly in her hands and made noises he’d never imagined she could make. He tried his best to give her pleasure, this being the first time he’d ever practiced oral sex on anyone. He worked his tongue against her clitorus and, after a bolt of sudden inspiration, snuck two fingers inside the wet heat of her vagina, marveling at how tightly she gripped him, at the twitch and pulse he could feel deep inside her as she writhed against his tongue. 

Before long, she was crying out with her own climax, shuddering and moaning against his mouth as his fingers were suddenly drenched in slick, sweet smelling secretions. He kept his fingers inside her, slowly pumping through her wet heat, until her convulsions stopped, then he gently withdrew them, disengaged his mouth from her sopping wet vulva, and found his way out from under the pink tent of her skirt. His face was a mess, and so he drew his forearm across his mouth to wipe away the wet slickness from her orgasming against his tongue. He was hard again, which was surprising to him, never having had an orgasm before now, he wasn’t sure how long the refractory period would be. Apparently, licking a demon to climax had him stiff and ready to go again within minutes. 

He awkwardly clambered to his feet, avoiding looking Beelzebub in the face as she straightened her skirts and readjusted her underthings. She also avoided looking at him, her cheeks were flushed and she was still a bit out of breath from the strength of her orgasm. Their hair and clothing were all mussed up and their faces were probably a sight. 

He snapped his fingers and was instantly clean and well ordered. He felt a brief moment of regret at the loss of her smell and taste as the swift miracle had removed all the sweat and secretions from his body. His clothing was again wrinkle free and clean as when he'd miracled it into place, earlier that day.

She did the same, taking his lead, and soon her hair was back in place and her skin was dry and clean again like his. She avoided looking at him as she fussed momentarily with her skirts and patted at her coiffed hair. 

“Beelzebub-” he began, but she cut him off immediately.

“I think I’ve had enough spying for today.” she said, her tone curt and perfunctory. “If you don’t mind, I was going to head back to home office to check in and finish up some paperwork.”

“Oh, well, alright.” he felt put out. Worse than put out. He felt neglected and ignored and suddenly very alone. They’d just shared their first sexual experience, and Beelzebub was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Are you alright?” he asked, sort of hating the caring tone in his voice, but unable to stop it. 

“I’m fine.” she remarked with a sigh, finally bringing her pale blue eyes up to meet his violet ones. “I just think we’ve gone a bit off mission and we should probably check in with Headquarters. This was… very educational.”

“Educational” he echoed glumly. “Right. OK. I’ll see you later.” and with that, he marched up the stairs, forgetting that they were playing a role, forgetting that he had to pretend to be the husband of a demon he was actually developing some disturbingly deep feelings for. Madame Tracy was in her sitting room, chatting with a very disheveled looking Shadwell when he came up from the basement. 

“Oh hello again deary!” she chirped when she saw him, but then stopped short when she saw the dark look on his face. “How did everything go?” she asked with concern plain in her voice. 

“It went really well,” he replied, trying to put on a brave face so that she didn’t think it was the bondage he was upset with. “I just need to… get back to the office to… do some work. Beatrice will be along in a minute.” He barely slowed as he made his way across the sitting room and out her front door. 

“That laddie dinay look all that happy.” He could hear Shadwell’s irritating and unplaceable accent behind him before the door swung shut. 

“After care! I forgot to tell them about aftercare!” He had just enough time to hear Madame Tracy’s response before her closing front door shut out both of their voices, and he was back on the pavement. 

He was about to snap his fingers and transport instantly back to his offices in Heaven when the door opened again and Beelzebub came out after him. “Gabriel,” she said, and her voice held a note of concern he wasn’t sure he’d heard before. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” he replied stiffly. “Like you said, we should check back with our head offices and make sure the paperwork is up to date.”

“Yes, only… I wanted to see if you were OK… after… well… after…” 

“I said I was fine. Good day Lord Beelzebub.” He snapped his fingers, and in a blink, he was back in his chambers in Heaven. He sighed in relief and executed another miracle to put himself back into his well tailored suit, this time in a pale gray color with a soft, beige turtleneck. It felt good to be back at head office, back where he belonged, away from the maddening, confusing effects of Beelzebub’s sharp eyes and commanding voice. And yet, he knew the memory of what they’d just done would haunt him until he saw her again. 

Why oh why did he have to have these feelings? These complicated, distracting, affecting, _illegal_ feelings for a _demon_? He felt a brief flash of comprehension over Aziraphale and Crowley hiding their friendship, their close association, their… _whatever_ it was they had together, from prying eyes for so many centuries. Knowing that you desired, or simply _liked_ your enemy was a difficult thing to acknowledge when he’d spent virtually the entirety of his life striving to thwart and smite demons at every turn. And now, this particular demon had crawled inside his head and infiltrated his heart in a way he was entirely uncomfortable with. 

Unbidden, memories of what it had felt like to explode against the pressure of Beelzebub’s firm little hand on his cock through the material of his trousers clouded his mind. He shoved the thoughts down and went to go check in on Uriel, Sandalphon and Michael. They were dependable, but he didn’t want to leave them alone without specific guidance for too long. That’s how you ended up with things like platypuses. 


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley knew he had to call Aziraphale. Or just stop by. He’d been keeping his distance ever since the  _ incident _ on the sofa, and he was starting to miss the angel. What a pathetic demon he was. Used to be, he didn’t start  _ really _ missing Aziraphale, not in the gut wrenching, longing type of way, until a few centuries had passed by. Then he’d seek the angel out and find some excuse to engage him in conversation, or… you know, rescue him from imminent discorporation via guillotine. 

But as the millennia came and went, and Crowley had gotten to know Aziraphale better and better, had grown to like him more and more (which in the beginning, hadn’t seemed possible), and now, just spending a few days apart from the fussy, proper angel was making Crowley twitch and pine like some lovesick heroine in one of Aziraphale’s old fashioned novels. 

He’d have to suck up his embarrassment and his self loathing eventually and reach back out to Aziraphale. Otherwise, he’d start to mope. And unlike pining, which had about it the tragic sharpness of unrequited love, moping was childish and self centered and unattractive. Demons shouldn’t mope. They should tempt and corrupt and seduce. A demon who moped, probably over several glasses of hard liquor, while yelling at his plants, was a sorry demon indeed. 

And this is how he found himself dialing Aziraphale’s number, the only telephone number he’d been bothered to memorize since the invention of the device, over a century ago. Aziraphale hadn’t changed telephones or numbers in practically as much time. It had taken him until the early 1920s to actually acknowledge that he needed a telephone in his shop, and once he got it, he hadn’t changed it ever since. That was Aziraphale all over. Technology was a mystery to him, and so when he became comfortable with a piece of it, he would hang onto it until it fell apart with age. Or he’d simply keep miracling it whole when it broke. The only reason Crowley didn’t tease Aziraphale relentlessly about this habit was that he himself had kept the Bentley in tip top condition since the mid 1930s. 

For this very reason, Crowley had also kept the same telephone number for a very long time. Getting Aziraphale to memorize new numbers took quite a lot of doing. The angel had an amazing memory for passages of poetry in centuries old first editions, but getting him to remember anything remotely related to technology was a chore. And so Crowley had only changed numbers a couple of times, in all these years, and then only out of necessity as the way telephone numbers . He still kept his land line, and old answerphone from the early 1990s, because the angel was accustomed to calling him there, and had it forwarded to his cellular. 

He dialed Aziraphale’s number now and waited patiently as it rang. The angel almost always answered, because he was almost always in his shop. He only left to pick up food at the market and take a stroll for pleasure, or to do whatever angel things he did during the week. 

“A.Z Fell and Co. How may I assist you?” Came the musical lilt of Aziraphale’s voice through the receiver, and Crowley felt his knees go weak. 

“Hey angel, it’s me.”

“Crowley!” the joy in the angel’s voice was hard to ignore, and Crowley felt a twinge of hope that maybe Aziraphale had missed him as much as he’d missed Aziraphale. “How are you my dear? It’s been a few days. I hope you weren’t too put out over… well, our last get together.”

“No. No. I’m fine. What’r you doing? Can I swing by?”

“Oh yes please Crowley. Some new books have arrived and you can help keep me company while I find homes for them.”

Crowley smiled indulgently to himself. “You mean I should come help you carry boxes of heavy books around the shop and hang around while you climb ladders and prattle on about ancient history?” he said. 

“Don’t tease Crowley. I don’t  _ prattle on _ . I’m only attempting to educate you on the finer points of human historical significance. You’d do well to broaden your cultural horizons.” Aziraphale’s offense was mostly put on, and Crowley could hear an ages old tone of playfulness under his scolding. 

“I was there for most of human history and so were you. I fail to see why going back over it relentlessly is helpful or enriching for anyone. Sort of like re-watching home movies.”

“Oh you incorrigible demon!” Yes, there was definitely a note of flirtation in the angel’s tone. Crowley had a pleasant mental image of Aziraphale hitting him on the arm with a lacy fan and dabbing at his brow with a silk handkerchief. He’d always had about him the feel of courtier or a high born lady from centuries past. It was unbearably charming. 

“Calm yourself angel. I’ll be right over. Can I bring you anything?”

“No dear. I’m all set up with food and drink. Just bring your handsome self.”

_ Handsome self? _

“Alright. Be over in a bit.”

“See you soon!” 

Crowley hung up and rushed to his bathroom mirror to make sure he looked perfect. He snapped his fingers and was instantly clothed in a pair of black, skin tight trousers and a form fitting black button down shirt (with the top few buttons open of course). With a wave of his hand, his copper hair arranged itself into a tousled masterpiece of casual elegance. He grabbed a pair of shades and his jacket and virtually ran to the lift, opting to walk over to Aziraphale’s, if only to slow himself down and not look too eager. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and it was a nice day, and he really did need to give himself time to calm down and get centered before seeing the angel again. It wouldn’t do to snap his fingers and arrive at Aziraphale’s shop door, seconds after hanging up the phone. A move like that would advertise his feelings far too much. 

Still, as he rounded the corner and Aziraphale shop came into view, he felt his treacherous human heart kick into high gear. How was he supposed to live this way for the rest of eternity? Pining away for an aloof yet kind angel who humored him with sexual playtime and fake kisses, but who could never love him back? Still, he didn’t want the dark cloud of his insecurity and frustration over his unrequited love to put a damper on his day with Aziraphale. He was happy simply to be awarded the promise of the angel’s company again. 

Over the past several days he’d been vacillating back and forth between anguish over spending eternity as Aziraphale’s platonic friend, and in coming to terms with it momentarily, because it was the only way he’d ever be allowed to be close to the angel. Then he’d swing back into frustration and pain… then back to altruistic friendship. It was an exhausting internal struggle. 

The strange thing was, when he was with Aziraphale, he felt both things. He felt strong romantic love for the antiquated principality with the white blond curls and stormy eyes, and he also felt a strong sense of loyalty and affection that fit well within a deep friendship. He felt all things for Aziraphale. 

With a deep sigh he opened the door to the shop and sauntered inside. “Hullo angel,” he drawled casually. Aziraphale, who’d been standing behind the counter, looked up when he spoke and his face split into a beaming smile that almost stopped the demon in his tracks. 

“Crowley!” There it was again. That joyful tone in his voice. At least the angel was happy to see him. “I’m ever so happy to see you,” Aziraphale gushed, as if on cue, then came around from behind the counter and walked up to Crowley. He stopped short of coming within range for a handshake or (Satan save Crowley’s eternal soul) a hug, and simply stood there, looking nervous, hands clasped and working together in front of the buttons of his faded waistcoat. “I trust you’re doing well.” he said, eyes wandering over Crowley’s face, his cheeks looking flushed. 

“I’m doing alright. You?” Crowley affected a tone of utter casualness as he leaned against a low shelf of books, which promptly capsized, spilling thick, leather bound volumes all over the floor. 

“Oh my! Let me help you!” Aziraphale chirped in alarm as Crowley took a tumble and ended up on his arse on the floor, among a profusion of books he’d just knocked over while trying to look suave and unaffected. 

_ Good job, idiot, _ he chided himself as he felt his face heating up with embarrassment and accepted Aziraphale’s warm, strong hand to help haul him back to his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll help clean these up.”

“Oh it’s no bother my dear. Won’t take but a moment.” Azirpahale bent to help him as they both gathered up the books and put them back on the shelf. A shelf, Crowley noted belatedly, that was not built for leaning against in the slightest. 

“They’ll all be out of order,” he said sheepishly. 

“I’ll simply fix them later, dear. Please don’t worry.” Aziraphale said as he placed the last of the spilled volumes back on the shelf. Crowley dusted himself off unceremoniously and followed the angel into his small sitting area. “Would you like some tea?” he asked, shooting Crowley a questioning glance as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“Yeah, sure angel. Thanks.” Crowley was certain that any amount of cool he’d managed to acquire by looking good and acting casual had just been utterly obliterated by his tumble with the books. He’d have to work hard to regain his footing. He carefully arranged himself on the sofa in the most languid, disarrayed pose he could manage, keeping his face neutral, as Aziraphale bustled about the kitchen, putting water on the stove, and fussing about with his many tins of tea. 

“Would you prefer black, green or herbal my dear? I have a new jasmine tea that’s simply delightful.”

“Whatever you like,” Crowley said through a yawn, acting as if he were so relaxed and calm that he was practically falling asleep. Of course, on the inside, he was a bundle of nerves over the angel’s nearness, but Aziraphale didn’t have to know that if Crowley could help it. 

A few minutes later, Aziraphale returned with two mugs of tea and set one down in front of Crowley before joining him on the sofa. He sat close enough that his thigh pressed against Crowley’s, and the demon was suddenly hyper aware of that small point of connection, of the heat radiating from Aziraphale’s warm knee. He gulped audibly. “S-so what are you up to later?” he asked, needing to get his mind off the tantalizing feeling of this tiny bit of their bodies that was currently touching. “I thought we could go to dinner. You know… keep up the charade that we’re stepping out together…”

“That would be lovely my dear. We really should get back to that. Can’t let the dastardly duo start to suspect that we’re faking now can we?” He simultaneously inched his way closer to Crowley on the sofa so that a far longer swath of his upper thigh was pressed against Crowley’s. Crowley felt himself start to sweat as his heart rate kicked up a notch and his stomach exploded with frantic butterfly wings. 

“Exactly,.” Crowley replied in a voice he hoped didn’t sound as gruff as he was sure it did. “So angel, where do you have in mind? Your choice. I’ll even pay.” 

“What a gentleman you are,” cooed Aziraphale in a voice that definitely had a soft edge of flirtation to it, and then he placed a hand on Crowley’s upper thigh. 

Crowley barely supressed a surprised gasp of pleasure at the feel of the angel’s hot hand on his leg. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said back, keeping his voice light, but unable to contain the tremor that ran through it as the heat from Aziraphale’s thick hand soaked through his tight jeans and into the thirsty skin of his thigh.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” Aziraphale remarked, his voice casual as he gave Crowley’s thigh a squeeze and Crowley’s eyes rolled back in his head behind the protection of his dark shades. “Do you think we ought to practice some more? With the kissing?”

“Um… sure,” Crowley replied, hating himself, hating the burst of joy and excitement inside his chest at knowing that the angel wanted to kiss him again. Why oh why must Aziraphale torture him this way? He must know by now that Crowley’s resolve was melting away, that Crowley was growing less and less able to resist Aziraphale’s requests for intimacy. Soon, he’d be a compliant puddle in Aziraphale’s strong arms, unable to contain his love or desire any longer. Eventually, if they ‘practiced’ enough, Crowley would end up embarrassing himself. Either by reaching a climax, or confessing his feelings or both. He was barely hanging onto his composure by his fingernails as it was. 

“Good,” the angel,  _ that bastard, _ replied. “I’ve gotten worried that you didn’t like it, and practicing kissing is essential to us being able to pass as a real couple. I appreciate your erm, flexibility in this manner.”

“Don’t mention it,” squeaked Crowley, his voice shooting up several octaves as he tried valiantly to reign in the waves of tingling anticipation and sexual desire that surged through his human corporation. 

Without another word, Aziraphale inched closer and gently pulled Crowley’s face to his for a kiss. Their lips met and Crowley felt his insides clench and his pants get tighter in a certain area. He barely suppressed a sigh of satisfaction at feeling Aziraphale’s silky soft lips pressed against his own. He still let the angel take the lead though, refusing to escalate things to a more involved or more sexual place before Aziraphale did. 

They kissed for a few thrilling moments, Aziraphale softly placing gentle little presses of his lips against Crowley’s, keeping his mouth closed and his tongue (blessedly) out of the equation for the time being. Crowley couldn’t help but turn in his seat on the sofa, orienting himself toward the angel so as to make it a more comfortable angle for what they were doing. As he did so, he placed a careful hand on Aziraphale’s waist, feeling the warmth of the angel’s tempting flesh through his waistcoat and shirt and (probably) undershirt beneath his palm.

Aziraphale pulled back after a while longer, and it took Crowley an embarrassingly long number of seconds before his eyes fluttered open again. He was greeted with the sight of Aziraphale’s lust darkened eyes and flushed cheeks and parted lips. “I have a proposal Crowley,” he said, and the gruff sound of his voice made Crowley want to lunge at him and snog him silly.

“Ok angel. What is it?” he asked, struggling for nonchalonce but probably sounding far too interested for that. 

“Well,” Aziraphale’s blush deepened, and he looked down at his lap. “I was thinking, what if Gabriel and Beelzebub do decide they need to see proof that we’re sexually involved. What if they ask for some sort of test. Or what if they devise a miracle to tell if we’ve been … intimate. If all we’ve been doing is kissing, they’ll surely know we’re faking it.”

Realizing where the angel was headed, Crowley felt himself light up inside with a bizarre mix of excitement and dread.  _ Oh no _ he thought  _ this can’t end well. _

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” he asked cautiously, torn between jumping for joy and running from the shop that instant. 

“If what you think I’m suggesting is that we have sexual relations, then yes,” Aziraphale replied shyly. His blush deepened, spreading to his hairline and down into his collar. Crowley absently wondered how far it spread, then realized he might be afforded the opportunity to find out, and felt himself blushing in response. 

“Angel. Um. Well…” Crowley had no idea how to respond. 

“Only if you’d be alright with it,” Aziraphale rushed to add. “I’d never want you to do anything with me against your will, or if you didn’t like it…” he let the end of the sentence hang in the air between them. 

“Oh I’d be fine with that,” said Crowley, marveling at the extreme understatement he’d just made. “I’d just hate to think you felt like it was something you had to do, you know.. To help us evaded detection. I wouldn’t want you to feel put out.”

“I’d be happy to!” Piped Aziraphale with a sunny smile. “I can tell we’re probably very sexually compatible, and we’ve become quite good friends haven’t we? I’m sure it won’t be too awkward. Will it?” he asked, looking for reassurance. 

Crowley was utterly helpless to resist him. “Oh it would be fine” he replied. “I’m sure it’d be enjoyable angel.” 

“Good then,” Aziraphale’s smile was sunshine, tinged over with a haze of nervous cloud cover. He was clearly apprehensive, Crowley just wished it was for the same reason the demon was apprehensive. Because he was afraid of getting in over his head with his feelings for Aziraphale. For sweet, accommodating, apparently lighthearted, sexually adventurous Aziraphale who loved everything and everyone. Sex for the angel might be just like eating his favorite ice cream for all Crowley knew. A playful romp. Whereas to Crowley, it meant  _ everything _ . Sex with Aziraphale was a thing he’d dreamed of since approximately five seconds after meeting the angel up on the wall in The Garden, some six millennia ago. 

How was he supposed to keep his cool while getting the thing he’d dreamed of for the entirety of the earth’s existence, all while pretending it meant next to nothing? He decided right then and there, that the only way he’d live through this without cracking and spilling all his hopeless unrequited love for Aziraphale out like a broken water jug was to take the more passive role. If he simply let Aziraphale suggest the things they should do, and if he let the angel make the first and second and fifty second moves, then he could hold in his love and keep himself safe. Otherwise, if he took the lead, he’d let loose and make love to the angel in ways that would speak of his true heart as if he were yelling it into a megaphone. If Aziraphale kissed him, he’d kiss back. If Aziraphale asked him to do something, he’d do it, but if it appeared to come from Crowley’s imagination, it would be too easily traced back to his wasted, leaking heart. 

All of this went through his mind in a flash as he watched Aziraphale’s smiling face. The angel had slid his hand up Crowley’s thigh and was squeezing the demon’s hip with a rhythmic pressure that had Crowley struggling not to moan and lean into his touch. “Lead the way,” he said, executing a sly smile, while his insides flipped somersaults and every inch of his skin started to tingle with anticipation. 

“Alright then my dear,” Aziraphale replied. “Let me know if anything is unpleasant, or if you want us to stop.”

_ Not bloody likely _ thought Crowley, but out loud he said “Same for you angel. Feel free to tell me if anything isn’t right.”

Aziraphale nodded and then leaned in to kiss Crowley again. He kept the kiss soft and gentle and Crowley struggled to match his pace, when inside, he wanted to grab Aziraphale’s face and snog him passionately. This was going to be highly challenging, but Crowley was a demon wasn’t he? He was supposed to be the master of temptation. He could handle a little friendly sex with his adversary could he not? Despite this fact, it wasn’t lost on him that although Aziraphale was supposed to be the innocent angel who was corrupted by Crowley’s Hellish wiles, that he was in fact the one doing the tempting. This ‘innocent angel’ was currently slowly inserting his tongue into Crowley’s mouth and pulling Crowley closer with a firm hand on his hip. 

Crowely parted his lips and obediently welcomed Aziraphale’s soft, questing tongue into his mouth, letting it dance with his own in a sensual slip of saliva slick sensation that had Crowley moaning softly against the angel’s lips. He let Aziraphale deepen the kiss, let him pull Crowley still closer until he ended up pulling Crowley into his lap. 

_ Oh dear Satan _ . Here he was again, straddling Aziraphale... again. Just like before. Just like in his most heated recent fantasies. He kept kissing the angel, letting Aziraphale’s lips and tongue slide against his own in ways that made his cock throb inside the confines of his skin tight jeans. Aziraphale wasn’t thrusting up against him, and so (with an act of iron will that an angel would be proud of), he refrained from grinding his pelvis down against the angel’s erection. He could feel it, the angel’s thick cock, could feel it pressed against him where their bodies were joined, but he’d be blessed if he were the first to rub them together. 

He didn’t have to hold back for long, because Aziraphale whined high in the back of his throat and thrust up against Crowley with his hips, grinding their cocks together with a tingling friction that had Crowley make a ruined sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob, in response. 

“I rather think our clothing is becoming less and less necessary my dear. Do you agree?” Aziraphale asked, sounding none too composed himself, and Crowley could only nod, not trusting himself to respond verbally for fear that all that would come out would be babbled love confessions. “Would you mind if we…?” The angel paused momentarily, during which time, Crowley eagerly snapped his fingers and Aziraphale found his arms suddenly full of stark naked demon. 

“Oh my!” the angel exclaimed, as his hands slid down the length of Crowley’s bare back to cup his buttucks with a firm grip. “Oh  _ my. _ How lovely you feel, my dear.” His voice was rough and deeper than usual. He released one of Crowley’s arse cheeks long enough to snap his own fingers, and then Crowley might have blacked out for a few seconds, because he came to wrapped up in and pressed against the softest, warmest, naked body imaginable. Aziraphale’s skin was like silk, and it smelled like baked goods and ozone, and a heady hint of lavender. The feel of their cocks pressed together was indescribable. His thigh muscles were starting to sing just a little bit from straddling the angel’s wider hips and his flat tummy was pressed delightfully up against Aziraphale’s soft, plush one. He felt his cock twitch embarrassingly between them and let out a small, helpless squeak as he struggled not to simply lavish Aziraphale with praise and kisses. 

“You feel great too angel. Really good,” he said lamely. Inside his mind, words like  _ silky soft _ , and  _ lush _ , and  _ zaftig _ and  _ gorgeous _ , and  _ sumptuous _ rose up in his imagination and fought for the right to leave his lips, but he kept all those words locked up tight. “Um…” he said instead, feeling like he might be losing his grasp on the English language, even after speaking it for several hundred years. “Um… what shall we do next?” he prompted, hoping Aziraphale would take the reigns again. Crowley couldn’t trust himself to think straight with the angel, nude and soft and smelling like a gourmet dessert in his arms. He was already using all of his available will power to refrain from rutting against the impossibly gorgeous creature. 

“What would you like to do my dear? I don’t want to suggest anything you’d be uncomfortable with.” Aziraphale, that utter bastard, was putting the ball back in Crowley’s court and Crowley was not having it. 

“Oh, angel’s choice.” he replied with a cocky grin, hoping his cavalier attitude would force Aziraphale to take the lead. 

“Well then, I think I’d rather enjoy it if we… moved against each other?” Aziraphale suggested cautiously. 

“Mmmnnf,” Crowley mumbled, as he felt all the available blood left in his human corporation rush southward, leaving him incapable of coherent speech. He realized he hadn’t spoken any actual words and nodded swiftly. “That’d be good,” he replied. 

“We might need some lubrica-”

Crwoley snapped his fingers and a small bottle of lube appeared in his hand. “Shall I?” he asked, trying to control the gruff, lust roughened tone of his voice.  _ Dear Satan _ , he sounded like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity. With a start, he realized that he and the angel both were actually about to do just that and had to suppress a near-hysterical giggle at the insanity of this whole situation. 

“Please do my dear.” Aziraphale had started thrusting gently and absently up against Crowley, but he ceased moving and let Crowley lean away from him slightly to dribble liberal amounts of lubrication onto their erect cocks. “Allow me?” he asked when Crowley recapped the bottle, and at the demon’s eager nod, he reached down with both hands, clasping Crowley’s cock at the base with one hand, and his own, beautiful, pale, thick cock with the other and stroked them both a few times to evenly distribute the lube. Crowley’s eyes drifted shut and his mouth fell open and a series of very indecent noises spilled from his lips at the feel of the angel’s hot hand on his aching cock. 

“Oh angel,” he managed. “That’s… that’s very good.” 

“Your penis is beautiful my dear,” Aziraphale remarked, his voice breathless.

“Penis?” Crowley felt the searing hot spell of their sexual experimentation lift for just a moment at the technical sound of Aziraphale’s choice of words. “Really angel?  _ Penis? _ ”

Aziraphale paused in his strokes, and Crowley died just a little bit inside at the lack of that mind blowing friction. “What should I have called it?” his eyes were wide and innocent and Crowley felt himself fall even more impossibly in love with the silly creature in his arms. 

“I don’t know. I prefer ‘cock’, but also ‘prick’ is kind of nice.  _ Penis _ just sounds awfully clinical don’t you think?”

Aziraphale pondered this for a few seconds before he grinned shyly. “Your  _ cock  _ is lovely my dear,” he said, trying out the word, and the sound of it on the angel’s lips made Crowley groan and thrust into Aziraphale’s hand involuntarily. 

“That works,” he gasped out, struggling to regain control of his pelvis. 

“Well then, may I say that I think your  _ cock _ is quite beautiful, and I am very much enjoying stroking your  _ cock _ . And might I add that I think it will feel very good if we rub our  _ cocks _ together?”

Crowley made another inarticulate noise and nodded, not trusting himself to make actual words. If Aziraphale kept up the dirty talk, this would be over in mere seconds. He was already on edge, the feel and smell and sight of the angel beneath him, flushed and panting with desire, their hot, throbbing erections slick and pressed together… at this point, Crowley could probably reach orgasm simply from thinking about this situation too intently. 

He felt Aziraphale wrap his arms around Crowley’s waist and let himself be pulled down into another hot, slick kiss. The angel began to move, rubbing them together with a sparking friction that had Crowley moaning shamelessly into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel moaned back, working them together with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, and Crowley felt his lower belly go tight and tingly. The lube allowed the full length of their cocks as well as the soft sacs of their scrotums to slide and rub together in just the right ways. The feeling was beyond pleasure. It had blown past ecstasy and rocketed into the realm of transcendance with a short pit stop at indescribably exciting. Crowley felt himself tensing as his climax approached and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. Not with the way Azirpahale was moving beneath him. Not with the way Aziraphale was making those wrecked sounding noises while they kissed and ground against each other. 

“Angel,” he gasped, pulling back enough to look down into Azirpahale’s lust darkened eyes. “Angel, I don’t think I can… I’m going to.”

“Yes, me too.” Aziraphale breathed in response. “It’s alright. Lets just… go together?”

Crowley nodded and felt Aziraphale increase the speed of his thrusts as they continued staring one another in the eyes. He felt his insides clench in preparation for what promised to be a uniquely strong orgasm and watched as Aziraphale’s eyes tightened in pleasure and his soft, beautiful mouth fell open. 

“Crowley I… I’m there..  _ I _ …” Aziraphale never finished his sentence because he began to climax, and the sight of the angel’s face as ecstacy swept across his features had Crowley swiftly tipping over into his own orgasm. He felt the pleasure explode slowly from his core as he felt Aziraphale twitch and spill between them. Their voices mingled in sharp cries and breathless gasps as they rode through what at least to Crowley, felt like a blinding surge of pleasure. 

He kept his eyes open through it all, kept looking deeply into Aziraphale’s storm colored eyes as they both ground out their pleasure against one another. It was almost too much. It was almost an end to Crowley’s self control. He felt the words, all the words of love and devotion he’d kept so carefully hidden for endless centuries, rushing to spill from his lips, but instead he gritted his teeth and groaned out his pleasure as his orgasm peaked and faded. Unable to look at Aziraphale’s face any longer for fear it would have him confessing his love, he leaned in and captured the angel’s lips in a slow, languid kiss. A kiss Aziraphale happily returned. 

The clung to each other, kissing for an unknown amount of time as their bodies slowed down and cooled off from the frenzied heights of their shared climax. Eventually though, the mess they’d made together inserted itself into Crowley’s consciousness in the form of a cooling sticky puddle of shared semen that had splashed across their chests and bellies. Crowley was fairly certain that he had ejeculate on the underside of his chin and he thought he could see a droplet or two gleaming against Aziraphale’s flushed cheek. He couldn’t help but be a bit impressed with the blast radius they’d managed to accomplish. 

With a snap of his fingers, they were both clean and dry. Unsure of what to do next, he clambered awkwardly out of Aziraphale’s arms and collapsed next to him on the sofa. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to wrap the angel up in his arms and hold him tight. To stroke his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, or perhaps investigate that soft, warm space where the angel’s neck met his shoulder. Instead, he ignored his body’s demands and simply lay there, naked and panting still from what they’d just done, struggling to pull himself together enough to face the reality of this situation. 

Aziraphale lay there panting as well, looking dazed but happy, a blissful smile on his lips. He turned his head and the full force of that angelic smile hit Crowley like an angora coated sledge hammer, and he forgot to breath for a few seconds. 

“That was quite marvelous my darling,” the angel said, in a voice that sounded loose and warm and contented. 

_ My darling _ . That was new. Crowley secretly rejoiced at the upgrade in pet names but didn’t draw attention to how much it meant to him. 

“Yeah angel. That was something extra special.” It was the most he could manage without launching into poetry. “I think we’ll have them fooled for sure now,” he added, hoping to cover for his love filled gaze with a reminder of their situation.

He saw Aziraphale’s smile falter momentarily. “Ah yes. Yes. Quite right. They’ll certainly believe that we’re involved at this point,” he agreed, sitting up and looking about him as if waking from a deep sleep. He snapped his fingers and was fully dressed, and Crowley, not wanting to remain naked and vulnerable while the angel was back inside his multiple, antiquated layers, snapped his fingers and dressed himself instantly as well. 

They sat for a minute, both unsure of what to do next. Crowley’s throat was dry due to all the enthusiastic breathing he’d done through his open mouth recently, and he was struck by inspiration. “Care for a drink angel? I could use a glass of wine… you know. Whatever you’ve got lying around.” 

Aziraphale seemed relieved by the change of subject, even one as threadbare as what to drink, and nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve still got that cabernet sauvignon from last week. We have a couple of bottles left. Would that do?”

“Oh yeah, that’d be lovely, thanks.” Their demeanor had slipped easily back to comfortable companionship, and for that, Crowley was beyond grateful. Aziraphale went off to find a bottle and two wine glasses and Crowley sat, dazed and wrung out on the sofa, waiting for him to come back, his mind spinning with all that had just transpired. 

Perhaps he could handle this? He wondered if this would be the only time they had sex, or if Aziraphale would get it into his mad, angelic brain to do it again… perhaps just to hammer home the point that they were genuinely involved? Crowley was deeply uncomfortable with the mix of emotions that came rushing to the surface when he contemplated that idea. And if Aziraphale  _ did _ suggest that they have sex again, would he want to go further? Perhaps put his mouth on Crowley? Or maybe… and this thought made Crowley squirm somewhat in his seat on the sofa… maybe Aziraphale  _ would ask to fuck him _ . 

Crowley would be hard pressed to recall how many times exactly he’d wanked to the idea of the angel being inside him, pounding him into the mattress, or fucking him gently until he exploded in pleasure. It was a common fantasy, and one he never dreamed might actually come to pass in real life. 

He found himself torn between praying that the angel would suggest they have sex again, and hoping that he wouldn’t, for the sake of Crowley’s sanity and emotional safety. He felt trapped between three very tough situations. Firstly, he had to pretend to be in love with someone who he loved fiercely, madly, deeply. Secondly, he had to live under the constant fear that he’d eventually give in and tell Azirpahale all the dirty, grubby little secrets about his feelings for the angel, at which point said angel would recoil in disgust and wish him a good day. For eternity. Thirdly, they had those wankers, Beelzebub and Gabriel on their tail, conducting this stupid,, bloody inquest to try and separate he and Aziraphale forever and likely get both of them killed permanently. 

Crowley was stressed out.

And he was in love. 

And the object of his love and desire had just participated in a mutual orgasm exchange with him, while staring him deeply in the eyes, wrapped up in Crowley’s arms. So, things weren’t all bad. He did have to admit that a warm, post coital haze was enveloping his brain and that in general, he was flying high from his recent tumble with the angel of his dreams. 

Aziraphale returned with the wine and the glasses, handing Crowley one as he put the wine bottle down on the table and sat next to the demon on the sofa. Strangely (Crowley thought) he sat close by, but not touching Crowley. Crowley chided himself for expecting Aziraphale to instantly snuggle with him, just because they’d been sexual together. Though, he supposed he wouldn’t be able to help expecting some of those things, just from a matter of course. This is what he’d feared wasn’t it? That being sexual with Aziraphale would have him slowly losing his mind? Well, if it was a choice between being separated forever, being punished with permanent discorporation and having searing hot sex with the love of your six millennia plus long life… he supposed the sex part was the best thing he could expect to come out of this whole situation. 

They chatted about this or that thing until Aziraphale excused himself to go upstairs to read, and Crowley was proudly able to refrain from begging to come with him, to curl up in bed with him and nap against his warmth like he was longing to do. But this was their normal routine. Drinking and talking into the early morning, at which point, Crowley would usually pass out on Aziraphale’s sofa and Aziraphale would either read from his armchair, or head upstairs with a book or three. Again, Crowley realized he was expecting something different. Something  _ more. _

He told himself he was being silly and curled up on the sofa, under the wool tartan blanket Aziraphale was always so kind as to leave for him. He tried to sleep, but sleep didn’t come as he was continually haunted by thoughts of Aziraphale’s eyes on his, Aziraphale in his arms… Dawn came and he was still lying awake on the sofa, with nothing to show for the evening but a new erection and a head full of worries, so he got up and went home to tend to his plants and mope. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my headcannon in this fic that Gabriel (like all good angels) has never said "fuck" before. As in, he never said "I'm the Archangel fucking Gabriel", because frankly, it makes this chapter that much hotter. 
> 
> that is all

Two weeks passed. Two weeks and no word from Beelzebub. Gabriel tried not to worry. He tried to focus on his angelic duties. He had meetings with Michael to discuss reordering their business structure post Armageddon-that-wasn’t, and new souls to welcome (officiously and with not too much warmth). He had to appear in visions to six new priests, three rabbis and one very confused Buddhist monk. There was always plenty to do in Heaven, and he accomplished his chores with the same dedication and care he always had. Only this time was different. This time, he was haunted by a pair of ice blue eyes and the memory of being tied up and at the mercy of a small, fierce demon. A demon who’d left him mixed up and confused and thrilled all at the same time. A demon who’d turned him inside out with her sharp commands and her clever touches. 

He hadn’t dared to use the company telephone to call her. Before, he’d felt well within his rights to do so, being that it was about the upcoming Apocalypse, or to check in about what to do about The Problem of Aziraphale and Crowley. Now, it would feel as if he were petitioning her for attention. He could feel it, deep inside his gut, this need to reconnect with her, to hear her soft yet stealy voice. To see her small, waistcoated form again. He’d spent far too much time during his day wondering what it might feel like to run his hands through her thick, black mop of hair, or (and this was the truly shameful part) kiss her lips. 

Kissing a demon wasn’t to be done. Just the mental image of Aziraphale kissing Crowley made him feel like retching from the wrongness of it, but somehow… somehow, the thought of kissing Beelzebub was becoming more and more appealing. All sorts of forbidden things were sounding more and more appealing to him. Having Beelzebub whip him with that cat-o-nine-tails from Madam Tracy’s shop for one. Having her maybe forcing him to tongue her to orgasm again. That was another thought that just wouldn’t leave his mind. The taste of her, the feel of her writhing against his tongue as she reached climax. The memory of her sound and her smell and the soft, wet feel of her as he’d licked her under her skirt. Maybe next time, he’d beg her to be allowed to jerk off while she watched and scolded him some more. 

_Next time_ . Sweet Lord in Heaven, what if there _wasn’t_ a next time? What made him think there _would_ be a next time? He hadn’t heard from her in two week’s time, and already it felt like an eternity. They were supposed to be on a stakeout, spying on the wayward angel and demon, as per their fake agreement, and yet, no word from Beelzebub. Perhaps she had written him off completely? Gabriel prayed she hadn’t. He wasn’t done with her yet. He needed _more_. And barring that, he felt he was owed an explanation as to why she’d taken him apart so completely and then just walked off. It didn't seem fair. 

“Boss. Phone for you.” It was Sandalphon. The portly angel was standing in the doorway of the conference room where Gabriel was staring absently out the window at the endless, fluffy white cumulus clouds, and worrying about his relationship with his sworn enemy. He shook himself out of his reverie with a shameful spark of excitement. He had a call. Could it be Beelzebub? “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said to Sandalphon, pretending that he had grave matters to consider and that he was in no rush, while suppressing the urge to bolt for the phone room. 

The Phone Room was where the antiquated, black bakelite phone used to reach their opposition Downstairs was kept. They called it The Phone Room because it’s only purpose was to house this one telephone. It sat on a marble dias in the center of the small room, which had no other adornment. Not that Heaven was big on interior decoration. Vanity was a sin after all. Most of Heaven’s offices were comprised of sleek marble surfaces, Grecian columns and the like. Everything polished to a maniacal gleam and unadorned and cold. Gabriel had played a significant role in designing the decor. Mess made him anxious. He felt at his best in places that were sanitized and clean and uncluttered. For this reason, visiting Aziraphale’s bookshop always made him twitch with revulsion and discomfort. 

It was long ago decided that Heaven would need a reliable mode of communication with Hell. Back before the human invention of the telephone, they’d used a variety of different communication attempts. Smoke signals. Messengers (who often came back traumatized by the way the “other half” had chosen to live). They’d even experimented with carrier pigeons, but they only worked as a one-way device, as the demons kept eating them. The telephone, when it was invented in the mid 19th century, was just the thing both sides needed to keep up with each other, without actually having to spend any time in each other’s company. 

Gabriel strode over to the telephone dais and grasped the receiver, lifting it to his ear. He was aware that Sandalphon was still standing there, listening in, so he kept his tone professional. 

“This is the Archangel Gabriel. To whom am I speaking?”

“Yeah, hi,” came Beelzebub’s grumpy, silky smooth voice on the other end. 

“Lord Beelzebub,” Gabriel addressed her stiffly, carefully keeping all evidence of the fact that he was an utter mess over her out of his tone. “What can I do for you?”

“We need to meet up again soon,” she said, and he felt his angelic heart leap inside his chest. 

“Do we?” he asked, injecting his tone with an extra measure of stiff nonchalonce. Served her right for treating him like a disposable plaything back at Madam Tracy’s.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. Look. I’m sorry about how I behaved after that... little scene at the old lady’s house. I... I just didn’t know what had happened. I was really confused.”

Gabriel was truly shocked. This vulnerability, this apologetic tone in her voice was brand new. A thing he’d never heard before, to the point where he briefly worried that he had someone else on the line. “Alright,” he responded, daring to let his voice soften a tad in response to her apology. “When do you want to meet up?”

“As soon as possible.” she replied quickly, and his body reacted in ways that he wished it wouldn’t. 

“Are you free now?” He asked, a tad too eagerly, “I can get away now, if it’s about our joint… project.” 

“Yes. Meet me in Las Vegas in ten minutes,” she said, then rang off without another word. 

Gabriel hung up in a daze. It was all happening very quickly. What would it be like when he finally saw her again? How would they behave? What was expected of him? And perhaps most importantly, what would he _wear?_

He swiftly made his way to his chambers and snapped himself into a number of different outfits, before settling on something sleek, simple and (he hoped) sexy. A pair of slate gray trousers that were just a smidge too tight, a dark gray button down shirt (also a teeny bit too tight) and a white tie. No jacket. He remembered well how Beelzebub’s eyes had wandered hungrily over his shoulders and chest when they’d been in Tracy’s dungeon. Giving the small demon something to look at couldn’t hurt could it? He made sure his hair was perfect and that his corporation was clean shaven, slapped on a little subtle cologne and then snapped his way to the lounge in Vegas where they’d previously met. 

She was there waiting for him at the bar, a scotch in hand, looking unbearably dashing in a black velvet suit and a red cravat. Her hair was a glossy, rippling onyx halo around her pale face, and was that eyeliner? Her nails were painted black and her lips looked a little redder than usual. Was she wearing _makeup_? Dear Lord, she was lovely. He swallowed thickly and greeted her with as much casual aplomb as he could manage.

“Lord Beelzebub.” He nodded at her. She nodded back.

“Hey.” 

“So, what was the rush?” he asked, leaning against the bar, hoping his shirt was stretching temptingly over his broad, well muscled upper body. He saw her throat working above her cravat as she swallowed, and saw her eyes slide down to swiftly peruse his arms and chest and inwardly rejoiced over his choice in clothing. Were her cheeks coloring? Or was that just from the liquor in the tumbler she held, clasped in her delicate hand? 

“Things were busy Downstairs for a while and I had to step away from our little Problem project. I thought it was high time that we started watching those two idiots again. Unless of course you have something else that needs your attention?” 

“Well, there’s always lots to do Upstairs as well, but yeah, I could spare some time to get back on the case.” He tried his hardest to make it sound like he was doing her a favor, rather than the truth, which was that he’d been waiting for her to ask to work with him again for the past two weeks. 

“Good,” she replied. “Those two are up to something. I just know they are. It’s way too convenient for them to be in a relationship. And all of their friends seemed unaware of this fact. So yeah, they _could_ have kept it secret, but I know Crowley. He’s trash at keeping secrets. And that angel of yours? He’s not exactly a smooth operator. I’m almost certain that if they _were_ shagging, they’d have told _someone_ other than us.” 

“I agree,” Gabriel replied thoughtfully. “They’re both utterly incompetent. They’d have slipped up and called each other a pet name or…” he swallowed down a surge of revulsion, “kissed each other in front of someone by now if they’d been going at it for that long.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that his side hadn’t been able to detect that the errant duo had been connected at all for the past six millennia. That they’d been meeting for drinks and canoodling together this whole time had somehow slipped Heaven’s notice. And Hell’s for that matter, since Beelzebub had seemed just as surprised when finding out the two had been in cahoots for their entire time on earth. 

“So, what’s the plan now?” She asked, placing the glass of scotch down on the bar and running her hand through her tousled black locks. Gabriel tried not to stare, but she just looked so incredibly _good_ to him in that sharp black suit, with her smudged eyes, the red of her cravat and her glossy, dark hair making her pale skin gleam in the dim light of the bar’s interior. He wondered for the thousandth time what it might be like to kiss her. 

“Not sure,” he replied. “We definitely have to get back to watching them though. They might not know we’ve taken a break, and we can’t let them stay inside and away from prying eyes for too long. Do you even know what they’ve been up to over the past two weeks?”

“Apparently, they went ice skating yesterday,” she replied with a grimace. “At least that’s what my sources tell me,” she replied with a look of nausea. “They’re apparently being very very affectionate and…” here she flinched “ _caring_ with each other. It’s frankly disgusting enough to me without seeing it first hand.” 

“Yuck. Agreed,” he remarked as she picked her glass back up and took a swig of the amber liquid inside it. “Well, let's give them a push yes? We could send them a message of some sort to let them know their time is running out. If we don’t see proof that they’re in a real relationship before the end of this week, they’ll be sent back to headquarters for processing.”

“Ok, that sounds good. Only one problem though. We can’t back any of that up. We don’t actually have the power of Heaven _or_ Hell behind this investigation. And even if they _were_ able to withstand their punishments after the Armage-Don’t because they’ve been shagging, how does that help us punish them?”

“Well, if we can fake an inquest, we can certainly fake a trial yes?” Gabriel countered with a smirk. “They’ll trust us. They’ll have to, because we’ll make it look really convincing. I can cast a shadow image of Sandalphon and Uriel if I concentrate hard enough and you can do the same to make it look like Hastur or Dagon are presiding with you. We can even do it here on earth. In some broken down warehouse at the edge of the city. They’ll assume it’s official, because let's face it, they’re morons. Then...” Here he paused for suspense, “we discorpate them permanently. We both know they aren’t actually sexually involved, so if we do the holy water, Hellfire thing again, I have a feeling it’ll work the second time around. It must have been due to some one time spell or another that they were able to withstand it the first time.”

Beelzebub gave him an appraising look. “That might work…” she said thoughtfully, and perhaps without her conscious awareness, she’d let her eyes start roaming over his body again. Gabriel felt himself growing hot under the collar. 

“Look,” he said, hoping to keep the conversation on track, rather than get lost in analyzing the little demon’s body language, looking for signs that she still wanted him. “We have to either prove that their claims are correct by seeing them do more than kiss on the cheek and go ice skating, or, we have to find out how exactly they _really_ were able to withstand their last punishments. If we don’t do either of those things, our only option is to trick them into believing they’re on trial and then doing away with them as swiftly as possible. Before they catch on.”

Even though they were intently working on a plan to try and permanently discorporate the two irritating runaway agents, he had to be honest with himself and admit that he’d started to lose interest in the chase. The reason for this was that he was starting to _gain_ more and more interest in Beelzebub. He should be repulsed by her. He _had_ been repulsed by her, back when she’d walked around looking like the victim of a very aggressive skin eating disease. Now though? He found her stunning in her sharp suits. It was more than simply looks though. Now he knew that they shared something deeper. A need to enforce order. A need to control and to intimidate those weaker than them. A need to grab for power and maintain it. 

They were similar creatures, in complementary ways. 

Beelzebub was nodding along with his statement about their course of action. She’d refilled her scotch glass with a snap. “There’s another option” she said. “But it’s risky.”

“What’s that?” he asked, feeling curiosity well up inside him.

“We could test out the theory ourselves,” she replied, her voice holding a note of cautious suggestion. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, momentarily perplexed

“We could erm, see if what they’re saying is true… that having sexual relations, exchanging… fluids as it were… makes us immune to holy water and Hellfire.” Her voice had grown less and less certain as she’d spoken, and by the time the sentence was fully out of her mouth, she was almost mumbling, her cheeks flushed and her eyes cast down at the drink in her hand. 

Gabriel wasted about two seconds before speaking. “Yes,” he said, forcing the word out before either of them could change their minds. 

“Yes?” she asked, clearly not expecting him to agree. 

“Yes. I think that’s a very good idea.” he said. He was beyond the ability to refuse the prospect of being physical with her. The fact that she’d just suggested they have sex again hadn’t even quite sunken in fully yet, but he knew a once in a lifetime chance when he saw it, and he leapt at the opportunity. “Yeah. That’s something I think we should try,” he continued. “If we really want to crack this mystery that is. I feel it’s important to do so in order to ensure our head offices’ continued collaboration from here on out.”

She nodded somberly. “Should we get started tonight?” she asked, and Gabriel was glad he didn’t drink, because if he had, he surely would have spit it across the bar. 

“T-tonight?” he spluttered. 

  
“Yeh” she said, retreating back behind a mask of sullen nonchalance. “Don’t they have rooms here? We could rent one, could we not?” She was looking away from him still, as if afraid to meet his gaze. 

“OK.” he replied numbly, unsure of what else to say. “We could do that.”

“Alright then!” she smiled, and it was such a strange and lovely thing to see flash across her face that Gabriel was struck speechless for a moment. “Let's go.” And with that, she pushed herself up from where she’d been leaning against the bar and started walking away, towards a set of elevators situated next to a row of slot machines.

“B-but, don’t you have to book a room at the front desk?” he asked, unsure as he got into the elevator with her. He’d never rented a hotel room before, this was new territory. He _had_ however seen a few movies over the years. 

“Not if you’re a demon you don’t,” she said, and snapped her fingers. 

“What did you just do?” he asked, only mildly concerned if whatever it was got them a room.

“I made it so that the honeymoon suite looks to be swarming with black widow spiders. Spiders everywhere. Our room should be available any second now.”

True to her word, they could hear faint screaming noises coming from down the hall as the elevator doors dinged open and they stepped out onto the top floor of the hotel. As they walked down the plushly carpeted hallway towards the honeymoon suite, the door burst open and a terrified looking man and a shrieking woman exited the room. He was in his shirt sleeves and her blouse was unbuttoned and they were barefoot. Clearly, they’d been starting to relax in the privacy of their suite when the walls had started crawling with poisonous arachnids. 

“Run!” The man yelled at them as he pulled the shrieking woman with him towards the elevator, both of them patting frantically at their hair and clothing. “The room is swarming with sp-spiders!”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Beelzebub with a wide grin, and Gabriel had to admit he enjoyed the look of shock that appeared on the couple’s faces as they hurried for the elevator. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” Gabriel replied, secretly impressed with her ingenuity and style.

“Demons aren’t nice,” she replied simply before snapping out another infernal spell. A key card appeared in her black lacquered fingers and she inserted it into the key slot of the door. The lock clicked and she pulled the door open for the both of them to enter. 

The room was clean and neat. Not a spider in sight. The couple’s suitcases were still there, just inside the door and this time, it was Gabriel who snapped his fingers. The luggage disappeared. 

Beelzebub raised a pale eyebrow at him.

“I sent their bags down to the lobby. Don’t want them coming back up here yes? Also…” he snapped his fingers again. “They won’t remember the spiders.”

“You’re no fun.” she teased.

“I’m an archangel. We’re not supposed to be _fun,_ ” he countered with a sly grin. 

“Fair point.” She walked over to the large bed, that was still made up and only slightly disheveled, looking as if the couple may have started getting a bit frisky on top of it, but hadn’t climbed under the covers yet. Which was good, because the idea of sharing a bed space with humans made Gabriel feel faintly nauseated. “This should do,” she said, sitting down on the bed and giving an experimental bounce or two to test its buoyancy. Gabriel felt his cheeks heating up. 

“Yes. It should do just fine,” he replied, going to join her on the bed, sitting a good foot away from her. He was very unsure of what to do next. It had been hot and exciting with Madam Tracy there to start them off and give them excuses to act out their desires. Now, alone and without all the bondage acoutremon, he felt a bit lost. 

“Um,” began Beelzebub, and he noticed that her voice held a tremor of caution. “You could kiss me, if you wanted to.”

This uncertain side of her was unusual, and Gabriel wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it. “I _want_ to,” he said, gripping his hands together nervously in his lap, sneaking a glance over at her. “I just…” he paused, searching for the words. 

“What?” she asked, her voice going sharp. “What’s wrong? Is it my suit? Do you prefer the dress?” she sounded… insecure?

“No!” he was quick to reassure her. “No, I prefer you in the suits.” he said. “I just also like it when… well… when you tell me what to do,” his cheeks were now flaming, and he could feel the heat of his blush traveling downward, across the top of his chest and up to his hairline. 

“Oh,” she said. She was silent for a moment, as if processing this bit of information. After a few more thoughtful seconds, she seemed to rally. “Um.. get on your knees.” Her voice had regained some of the commanding tone that usually made his insides weak, and so he was swift to obey. He slid off the bed onto his knees on the floor, which, because of his height and her small stature, had him head to head with her. She stood from the bed and stood over him, giving herself a few inches of additional height so that she could look down into his eyes. She drove her fingers into his hair and clenched fistfuls of it, and he felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart began to race at the combination of her nearness and the tingling pressure radiating across his scalp. 

She leaned down, her chest heaving somewhat with excitement and brought her lips closer to his, her face intent, pale eyes flashing. He might have moaned a little when her soft lips pressed against his own. It was… it was… _sweet_. He hadn’t expected the feel of her lips on his to be so petal soft and so gentle. It was good though. What was even better was when she made a high pitched noise and pressed her mouth more forcefully against his, pushing his lips open and inserting her tongue between them to mingle with his, using her hand in his hair to guide him against her mouth. The slick feeling of their open mouthed kiss made his body react with force. His cock was instantly rock hard and his skin began tingling as she wrapped her arms around his neck and continued kissing him with rough abandon. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest, moaning louder now. She was making helpless little noises in the back of her throat and her hands were roaming over his shoulders and up into his hair again. Somehow, she ended up straddling him and sank down into his lap as he fell back to sit on his heels. The feel of her modest weight, pressing down against his aching cock had him whining with need. 

“Lie back,” she said against his lips, and he did as he was told, reaching behind him to support both their weight as he fell back in a controlled manner to lie on the floor, bringing her with him with his other arm locked around her narrow waist. Now she was lying on top of him, kissing him, and the feel of her small body, flush with his was indescribably good. 

“You feel amazing,” he said, before he could help himself. 

“Shut up.” she commanded, and he felt his cock twitch between them. “You like that don’t you?” she asked, grinning wickedly into the kiss. “You like it when I order you around.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Please tell me what to do.”

“Oh I plan on it,” she replied, sounding smug, getting into her role further. “And if you’re a good angel, I’ll let you come inside me.”

Gabriel let out a noise he didn’t recall ever making before and his eyes rolled gently back into his head at the promise she’d just made. “Oh yes,” he gasped. “Yes. I want that.”

“Then be a good little angel and take your clothes off,” she commanded. 

He snapped his fingers and was nude at once. She however stayed fully clothed. “Mmmm,” she purred. “I like you like this. Naked and vulnerable under me. Where you _belong._ ” As she said this, she leaned to the side a bit and reached down a hand to stroke his throbbing cock with her hand. 

“Oh god!” he yelped, thrusting up into her hand, his head falling back against the carpet of the hotel floor with a soft thud. “Please touch me.” 

“Please touch me, _Lord Beelzebub,_ ” she reminded him gripping his hair in her little fist and staring down at him with fierce eyes. 

“Please touch me Lord Beelzebub.” he gasped out, and he felt her small hand wrap around his cock and tug gently. “Oh gosh!” he groaned as she continued tugging at him, using just enough pressure to tease him with what it would feel like if she stroked him in earnest, but definitely not enough pressure to get him to climax. She lowered her head and began sucking and biting at the side of his neck, creating what was probably a dark bruise, marking him. The pain was exquisite, and combined with her barely there jerks on his stiff cock had him panting and begging for more. 

“Oh dear lord. Oh my god. Oh my. Oh my!” 

She left off sucking at his neck and leaned back a moment to look into his eyes, her own dilated but filled with sudden mirth. “Say fuck,” she said.

“What? Now?” he replied, reddening further at her blasphemous suggestion. 

“Do you want to come inside me?” she asked, giving his cock another gentle tug to punctuate his point. 

“Yes!” he gasped against her lips.

“Well then, say fuck, or I’ll only let you wank yourself off while I watch.” she threatened, and although that also sounded incredibly appealing, he very much wanted to put his cock inside her.

“F-fuck,” he stammered out softly. 

“Not loud enough.” she hissed at him through clenched teeth. “Prove to me how wrong and dirty and _bad_ you are my little angel. Say it like you mean it.” And this time, as if to encourage him, she started stroking him in earnest. 

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Oh f-fuck!”

“That’s better,” she cooed, “I like it when you use profanity. I like it when you dirty yourself for me. Lets get those white wings of yours a little filthy.” She kept stroking him through this little speech. He was rather big in comparison to her small hand and delicate fingers, and she could barely get her hand around his girth. She was determined though, and with a concentrated look she executed a spell that slicked her hand with lubricant. Now she was sliding up and down his tortured length with a slick grip.

Gabriel threw his head back and gasped, thrusting gently up into her hand. “Fuck. Fuck!” He felt his insides shiver with a strange mix of shame and arousal as he yelled out words that no angel should ever say. Least of all not with a demon on top of them, enthusiastically jerking them off. 

“Do you want me to sit on that cock?” Beelzebub asked. “Do you want me to sit down on that cock and ride you until you explode?” She whispered to him, and he moaned loudly at the sound of her salacious words as they tickled the fine hairs inside the shell of his ear. 

“Yes Lord Beelzebub. Yes. _Please_.”

“Good,” she said, right before she snapped her fingers and then she was nude as well, nude and silky and smelling like scotch and fancy cologne. He brought his hands up and stroked them down the soft skin of her back to grip her waist, and he heard her sigh with pleasure for just a moment before her sharp voice cut back in. “You don’t touch me until I say you can,” she commanded, and he regretfully removed his hands and let them fall to his sides. 

She sat up, straddling him, and she could feel the heat and the slickness of her vulva pressed against his stiff, aching cock. He groaned and thrust up against her and was rewarded by a sharp slap across the face. It stung and he was momentarily shocked by the sudden pain. He felt her freeze atop him.

“Halo?” she asked, clearly checking in to see if she’d gone too far. 

“No. No, I like it,” he said, and realized that he _did_ in fact like it. _A lot_. “Do it again,” he rasped, and felt her slap him again, a little harder this time. He wasn’t sure his cock could get any more erect, but the feel of her stinging hand against his cheek made him throb painfully. 

“Oh thank you, Lord Beelzebub, thank you,” he gasped. “Can I touch you please?”

“You may,” she said, sitting atop him, his cock pinned between them, jutting up against his belly. He reached out with reverent hands and slid them up her thighs and heard her moan. Carefully, he slid his hands around to grip her small, cold buttocks in his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, and she cried out and thrust against him, arching her back and showing off her small breasts and flat, pale belly to his hungry eyes. He let his hands roam across her hips, and around her waist, and then up to touch the faint swell of her breasts, feeling her small, pink nipples harden against his palms. He dared to pinch a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and was rewarded by a gasp and another thrust of her hot wetness against his cock, which in turn had him moaning again. 

“Oh fuck, Beelzebub. I need you.” he said, “I need you now. Please. Please sit on my cock.”

It was a testament to how turned on she was that she didn’t bother correcting him or scolding him for leaving out her title. She simply scooted up his torso until the head of his cock was lodged against the opening to her slick entrance. They both moaned then as she slowly pressed back, letting him stretch her as his head worked its way inside her heat. She went slowly, panting, bracing herself against his chest as she pressed back onto his cock. The feeling, of slowly being eased inside her, of feeling her slowly but surely inching his way deeper inside that slick heat was indescribably good. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, stroking his hands up her sides and then framing her face between them. He felt suddenly and uncomfortably tender towards her. He wanted her to enjoy this. 

“It does a bit,” she gasped out, “but I like it.” and with that, she pushed back until another inch of his thick cock was lodged inside her. She gasped then moaned deep in her throat. “Oh fuck, you’re so big,” she breathed. “I didn’t know you were so big.”

Gabriel gave a gentle thrust, testing her elasticity and she gasped again as he sank himself a little deeper inside her. “Oh god, Beelzebub. Oh f-fuck. You feel… amazing.”

“Oh Satan, fuck,” she said softly as she slid the rest of him inside of her. He was now fully enveloped in the wet hotness of her vagina. He flexed himself gently and she moaned in response. She fit him like a tight glove, hugging him, surrounding him with sensation. He hoped he didn’t come too soon, as he wanted this to last, but he was already so incredibly aroused. 

And then, she began to move. Slowly at first, just a gentle, slow rocking motion that moved his cock in and out of her by a few inches. She was breathing heavily, her eyes were screwed shut and a look of utter concentration had painted itself across her face as she rocked back and forth atop him. He gritted his teeth and clasped her waist in his hands and struggled not to come inside her. The feel of her tight, hot passage sliding gently back and forth along his tortured length was almost unbearable. 

“I’m.. I’m very close,” he warned. 

In response, she opened her eyes and looked down at him. “Would pain help you pull back?” she asked, breathless but sounding curious as well. 

“Maybe,” he said. She leaned up a little, crying out softly at the change in angle that lodged him inside her a little deeper, then pinched his nipples in her sharp little hands and gave them a twist. He gasped in pain, but it also held a spark of pleasure that twisted inside his gut. 

“Oh God,” he exclaimed. “Yes. Yes, that helped. It felt good, but it brought me down from the edge a little.” 

“Good.” she replied, giving his tender nipples another twist as she sat up, straddling him fully now. She left off pinching him and started moving again, riding him gently, bracing herself with her hands against his stomach. In this position he could see her gleaming clitorus, poking through her soft pubic hair, just above where his cock disappeared inside her. 

“Can I touch you?” he asked, and she nodded swiftly, then grabbed his hand and pressed it against her. He began stroking her little pink clitorus with the pad of his thumb and was instantly rewarded with the feel of her slickening and tightening further around his shaft. He moaned as she continued rocking on top of him, while he gently worked her with his thumb, sweeping down to gather some of her wetness to lubricate his thumb’s repeated passage over that tender bump of flesh. With his other hand, he grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him with every forward motion of her hips. 

Working her pussy this way was a welcome distraction from the mind blowing pleasure of being buried inside her and having her gently riding him. It helped keep him from coming too quickly as he focused in on rubbing tight circles over that hard little nub of pleasure. She responded by throwing her head back and crying out, reaching a hand down to grip his where he was holding her by the hip. 

He could feel her movements quickening as she pressed into his hand on every forward thrust, could hear her breath hitch and he sensed she was nearing orgasm. He was teetering on the edge as it was, so he simply continued what he was doing and waited. 

“I’m.. I’m almost there,” she gasped, her hips moving faster still. Gabriel gritted his teeth with the effort of holding off. “Come with me.” She commanded. “Come now,” she groaned, and he felt her start to convulse along his length. “Oh fuck!” she yelled. “Come now. Come with me.”

Gabriel did not need to be told twice. He thrust up into her, arched his back under her barely-there weight and felt himself tip over the edge as she gasped out her climax. She was crying in high pitched yelps as she twitched and jerked on top of him. He felt her increased wetness slicken his movements inside of her and it made his own orgasm rip through him with a force he couldn’t have imagined. Not in all his centuries absently contemplating human sexuality from within the safety of his marble fortress in Heaven. Now he was down on earth. Deep inside his demon lover, crying out her name and coming inside her. Hard. 

The waves of pleasure slowed and tapered off, and he kept gently thrusting up into her as she kept grinding down onto him. Eventually their movements slowed and she fell atop him, collapsing onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her narrow frame, delighting in the feel of her, sweat damp and gasping and wrapped up in his embrace. He buried his face in her sweet smelling hair and sighed happily. She allowed him to hold her, snuggled against him and sighed back, seeming completely satisfied. 

Gabriel had a strange feeling inside his chest. An expansive, glowing, warm feeling that spread from his human corporation’s heart and out to all of his limbs. He felt light and airy and yet also grounded in a way he’d never felt before. Something was happening to him, and he was unsure what it was. He only knew he didn’t ever want to let Beelzebub go. He wanted to hold her and stay like this, wrapped up with her on the floor of this tacky hotel room forever. 

Having sex with her, coming inside her, making her explode in pleasure, had been the single most new and profound experience of his life. He continued holding her as he slowly caught his breath, and felt the expansion and contraction of her small rib cage inside the circle of his arms. He was... _feeling things_. Warm, fluttering things unfolding inside him. He felt peace. He felt joy. He felt…. Love. 

_Love?_ Well, yes, love. But not the expansive, beatific, angelic love he was _supposed_ to feel, and hadn’t felt in probably three thousand years. This was a focused, intense, consuming feeling. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to please her. He wanted to keep having sex with her, over and over. He wanted to be near her all the time. 

Oh holy harps! Was he _in love_ with _Beelzebub_ ? In love with a _demon_ ?? He felt a thrill of panic rise up inside his gut. How was that possible? He tested his inner emotions, got mentally quiet and just felt what came up inside him when he simply lay with her in his arms, and… yes… there it was again, this deep and profound peace and happiness, tinged with longing. Needing her, even though she was here with him right now. Already he was afraid of what would happen when she stirred and pulled herself out of his arms. _Oh no_ . He was in _trouble_. Instantly, several thousand years of silly human songs and poems made complete and total sense to him.

She sighed again and wriggled closer, causing his now flaccid cock to slip out of her, leaking his essence onto his lower belly. 

“Oops,” she giggled and nuzzled her face into his neck, causing tingles to spill down his back. “We made a mess,” she murmured, and he could feel her smile against his skin. 

“Yes. Yes we did,” he replied, moving one hand from where it was wrapped around her upper arm to snap them both clean with a well placed miracle. “Would you like to … move to the bed?” he asked, silently praying that the suggestion of a change of location wouldn’t jar her into leaving, wouldn’t break the spell of post coital intimacy they were enjoying now. 

“Yeah,” she replied with a yawn. “That’d be good.” And she slowly extricated herself from his arms and got unsteadily to her feet, affording him a tantalizing view of the full length of her lithe, naked body, gleaming in the yellow lamplight, before she crawled unceremoniously onto the bed and collapsed again. 

He followed suit and to his utter relief, as soon as he’d settled on the bed, on his side, facing her, she curled up against him, with her back against his front. She even pulled his arm possessively around her waist, before settling in with a happy sigh. Gabriel pulled her in tighter, marveling at how her smooth skin and the small form of her nude body fit so perfectly into the curl his his larger one. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her spicy scent, feeling his entire body relax in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. 

She snapped her fingers and the covers were miraculously on top of them, rather than under them, then wriggled a bit until she was as close to him as possible, before sighing again. After a few more blissful moments of holding her tightly against him, he heard a gentle snore, accented just a little bit with a fly’s wing buzz. She was sleeping. In the arms of an archangel. The trust exhibited by this very human and very intimate act floored him. He could discorporate her where she lay. He could call in angelic hoards to clap her in chains. He had the Lord of Hell, asleep and helpless in his arms. 

He’d never dream of betraying her that way, but the very fact that she knew that he _could_ and still chose to remain unconscious in his presence was a huge show of trust. He felt honored. 

He must have drifted off as well, because a gray light was filtering in through the window when his eyes cracked open again. Beelzebub was awake as well, and sleepily thrusting her bottom against his crotch. He was hard inside of five seconds and thrusting back at her, daring to find her pert little breasts with his hand and play with her nipples. This caused her to moan loudly and thrust back against him with renewed fervor. Soon, she had lifted her leg and reached down and guided him inside her again from behind. She was extremely wet and extremely hot and open from the last round, and he fucked her gently and slowly, while playing with her breasts with one hand, and reaching around to gently rub her clit with the other. Before long, she stiffened and cried out her climax. The feel of her tightening and twitching around him had him coming too in just a few more slow thrusts, and he gasped out his pleasure into the sweet, dark profusion of her hair. 

Then there was more snuggling. More of her wriggling as close to him as she could get. More happy sighs. Gabriel was certain he could stay in this bed, making love to her for the next fifty years or so without a break and be completely happy. Forget Aziraphale and Crowley. Forget Heaven and Hell. He didn’t care about anything other than Beelzebub’s small, warm body in his arms, the smell of her and the feel of her against him. 

He drifted off to sleep again, (a thing which this human corporation apparently enjoyed doing), and the next time he opened his eyes, it was mid day, and Beelzebub was gone. 


	12. Chapter 12

Beelzebub hated to leave Gabriel. He looked so very sweet and vulnerable, expression slack with sleep, his spectacular body half draped with silk sheets. She took a few selfish moments to simply gaze at his sleeping face as she lay in his arms before carefully pulling herself out of the bed, being careful not to wake him. 

Last night had been… explosive. Profound. Amazing. She’d had no idea this human corporation could feel so many things, that it would react so strongly to Gabriel’s touch. Now that she knew that she could wring such incredible pleasure from having him touch her and use his mouth on her and from having his cock inside her, she wanted it again and again. And not just with anyone. She wanted those things with  _ Gabriel _ in particular. 

It was a strange feeling, this wanting. And why had it felt so very good to rest in his arms afterward? The sex was over, the orgasm had faded, and yet lying wrapped up in his embrace on the floor of the hotel room had felt almost as good as the sex had. Now, every time she looked at him (warm and loose and fast asleep next to her), and every time she thought about him, she felt a warm flush inside her chest and a tingling twist deep inside her human sexual organs. 

She didn’t know what was happening, but she suspected it had something to do with human emotions. Humans were always going on about love and sex. They sang about it, painted it on canvases, wrote books and poems about it, and filmed each other having sex in virtually all manner of ways dreamed up in Heaven or Hell. Beelzebub had never been interested. Before now. 

She softly snapped her fingers and was instantly dressed again in her trousers, button down shirt, suit jacket and cravat. Her hair leapt back to its glossy coiff, which was good because having sex with the archangel had made a mess of it. Wouldn’t do to go back to Hell looking like she’d just been rolling around in a hay loft with the opposition. 

She couldn’t help but smile to herself at the mental image. She was smiling far too often then a demon should these days. Smiling and daydreaming and thinking far too much about a pair of violet eyes and broad set of shoulders and a deep voice calling her name. 

She couldn’t bring herself to wake Gabriel to say goodbye. It was far too intimate and too caring a thing to do, and she wasn’t yet ready to behave like that with him. To gently wake him by running fingers through his hair and whispering his name like she longed to do. Or maybe kissing his neck and cuddling up to him. Perhaps getting him excited and having him fuck her again… She shook herself out of steamy imaginings of morning sex with Gabriel and swiftly snapped herself back Downstairs. 

After a night of explosive sex with an adonis in a cushy hotel room in Las Vegas Nevada, the grungy walls of Hell were a let down by comparison. Yuck. What was that angel doing to her? Raising her comfortably low standards. Making her want things she’d never contemplated wanting before. Making her spruce up her appearance and spend extra time topside. It was behavior unbecoming of the Lord Of Hell. 

And yet… It felt so  _ natural _ and so right. For not the first time since this whole affair began, she wondered if Aziraphale and Crowley really  _ were _ in love. These human corporations and their seductive brain chemicals and their tingling nerve endings certainly did have a way of making a demon lose their head. Perhaps it wasn’t all  _ that  _ disgusting and unimaginable for Crowley to desire the plump, blond angel. She still hated Crowley. She wouldn’t be much of a supervisor if she didn’t hate him just a little, but now… now she had an inkling of what it was like to be in love with angel.

_ In love with an angel??? _

Was she…  _ in love _ with the archangel Gabriel? Just the thought of him made her cheeks flush and her mind bloom with images of his naked body. That could very well be lust though, and Beelzebub, being a demon, was quite familiar with the concept of lust. She’d only ever felt it before however as a lust for power and dominance. Not for… sex… with an angel. And there was more there. More than simple sexual desire. She wanted to… cuddle with him. She wanted to gently stroke her fingers through his hair. She wanted to… tell him about her fears and insecurities and have him wrap his strong arms around her and tell her it would all be OK. 

Such thoughts should have made her feel nauseated and horrified, but they only made her feel a glowing warmth that bloomed behind her breastbone. A warmth that throbbed gently any time she thought of Gabriel. 

Oh shit. She was in trouble. 


	13. Chapter 13

Crowley was in trouble. Two weeks had passed, and he and Aziraphale had had sex every way imaginable. Of course they had. The minute the angel had proposed that they deepen the legitimacy of their “fake” relationship by shagging, Crowley had folded like a deck of cards and complied immediately. What else was he to do? When the love of your very long life asks you to get naked and have orgasms with him, well… that’s bloody well the only course of action you can take isn’t it? 

At first, Crowley had struggled mightily with holding back his feelings. Especially when Aziraphale was beneath him, gasping out in pleasure or above him, pinning him to the mattress in Crowley’s flat or upstairs at the bookshop. He’d gotten close a few times to spilling more than his semen. And yet, he’d held back admirably. Aziraphale hadn’t given him the smallest inkling to indicate that he felt more than sexual desire for Crowley. For all Crowley knew, the angel just loved shagging like he loved flowers and tea and old books. He certainly had taken to it like a fish to water. He was _insatiable_. They had sex at least three times every time they saw each other, which was four or five days out of a week. 

Not that Crowley was putting all the responsibility on Aziraphale for the epic fuck-fest that was now taking up most of their free time over the past two weeks. He too seemed unable to keep his hands off the angel. His one saving grace though was his continued passivity. He kept himself just a little bit aloof. Only engaging in sex when Aziraphale initiated it. Only going along (happily) with the angel’s suggestions of positions and things to try, never suggesting his own. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind his hanging back. He politely asked Crowley again and again if he’d like this or that thing, or if he’d “fancy a shag” after a few drinks. Or he’d simply grab Crowley’s hip or waist and pull him close murmuring “is this alright my dear?” and waiting for Crowley’s very enthusiastic agreement before snogging him silly. 

Crowley was blissfully happy, but his joy was tinged with a low grade feeling of anxiety and dread. What would happen when he couldn’t bear it any longer and told Aziraphale that he’d die without him? That he’d dreamed of being with him for six millennia? What would happen when Crowley said he didn’t want this to be something they did to try and avert their permanent discorporation and instead that he wanted this _all the time_. 

Eventually, not confessing his love during sex became just another habit. Just like the habit he’d developed over the millennia of teasing Aziraphale and trying to get his goat, all to cover for the fact that he was an utter mess over the angel. For a minute there, he thought he actually had a handle on the situation. That he could pretend outwardly that this was all just about winning their freedom. 

And then, Aziraphale had started with the cuddling. The cuddling was the _worst_. Crowley was fairly certain that cuddling after sex would have even the coldest, steeliest demon spilling out his love, and Crowley was not cold, nor was he steely. He was a warm, gooey mess. Aziraphale had started pulling Crowley close and nuzzling his neck and squeezing him tight after sex. And Crowley of course had let him. He was powerless to resist any sort of positive physical touch the angel saw fit to dole out. He knew Aziraphale was just like this. He was sweet and smiley to babies and animals and he routinely hugged humans, who always gladly hugged him back because… well, because he was the world’s most charming and handsome person. And he was so very soft and huggable. 

The cuddling however was very nearly Crowley’s undoing. The first time Aziraphale had pulled him close and buried his nose in Crowley’s neck, Crowley had started telling him he loved him. It had just slipped out. But luckily, he’d covered for it mid confession. 

“I love y-Youssef Chahine,” he’d stammered clumsily. 

“The Egyptian director?” Azirpahale had asked, confusion clear in his tone.

“Yes! I love his work so very much. Was just thinking about his award winning films.”

It had been a narrow escape. 

Eventually, Crowley had needed to revert to his snake form during the cuddles. It was just easier to suppress his human emotional responses as a large snake. And Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. They spent hours with Crowley wrapped around Aziraphale whilst the two lay on his sofa or in bed as Azirpahale read a book. Crowley, soaking up his warmth, tasting his lovely smell with delicate flicks of his tongue to the angel’s neck and face, whilst Aziraphale gently stroked Crowley’s scales with a warm hand. 

Crowley’s snake form could only protect him for so long though, because eventually, Aziraphale’s warm, gentle touches to Crowley’s sinewy length would take on a different feel. He’d begin to drag his fingertips slowly up and down Crowley’s red scaled belly in a manner that wasn’t entirely platonic. The soft, sensual drag of the angel's fingertips along his scaled flesh would activate the sexually charged part of Crowley’s reptilian brain, and he’d find himself pulled back into human form again, with a throbbing erection to boot. And then they’d shag. Again.

It was a delicious sort of torture. 

Currently, Aziraphale had Crowley’s cock in his mouth. It was something he excelled at. The mobile, wet heat of the angel’s mouth as he bobbed up and down on Crowley‘s length was getting Crowley close, and fast. He always strove to hold off from coming too quickly when Aziraphale started sucking him, but the angel was just too damned good at it. Satan only knew where an angel had learned to suck cock with such breathtaking skill. Crowley was starting to thrust up into Aziraphale’s mouth, something he’d learned that the angel really seemed to enjoy. True to form, Azirphale’s moans around Crowley’s cock increased in volume and frequency as Crowley’s thrusts increased in speed and strength. Crowley felt his orgasm curling hotly in his lower belly and brought his hands up to wrap his fingers in the angel’s silky soft hair. He was almost there. Almost there… The pressure was building deliciously and with just a few more short, erratic thrusts up into the angel’s hot mouth, he was exploding in pleasure. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” he groaned as he felt himself come completely undone by Aziraphale’s busy lips and tongue. “Oh fuck, angel. Oh fuck, oh my _love_.” 

The word just slipped out. He was dimly aware of it happening, but was too lost in pleasure to care. Aziraphale rode through his orgasm with him, hands gripping Crowley’s bucking hips, eagerly swallowing Crowley down, taking all of him with ease. 

When Crowley started slowly coming back down to earth, gasping and wrung out with the strength of his climax, the reality of his slip up sank in at last. He felt a stab of panic shoot through his gut and immediately switched to snake form, which caused a yelp of surprise from Aziraphale, who suddenly found his mouth full of nothing and a large black serpent wriggling away from him across the mattress. 

“My dear!” he spluttered in confusion, reaching out to try and grab Crowley before he could slither away under the bed. “My dear, where are you going? Are you quite alright?” The alarm in Aziraphale’s voice was obvious, but Crowley just needed to hide. His animal brain had taken over and was urging him to find somewhere cool and dark to coil himself up in and hide until the danger passed. Never mind that the danger wasn’t a hawk overhead or a dog or a fox, but his angel lover who may or may not have just heard him confess his undying love. 

He slithered under the bed and curled himself into a tight coil, hissing gently in alarm as Aziraphale immediately fell to his knees by the bed and peered under at him. 

“Crowley darling. What’s wrong? Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Did I do something painful? Was it not what you wanted?” He sounded very concerned. 

“Sssssnot that,” Crowley hissed. Speech wasn’t exactly easy in this form, which was one of the reasons he’d started reverting to it in the first place. 

“Well then, why don’t you come out and tell me what’s got you so distraught my dear.” Poor angel. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were all crinkled up with worry. Crolwey hated to do this to him, but he couldn’t bear to be the object of Aziraphale’s gently condescending concern right now. He was ruined with love for the angel, and Aziraphale would simply continue shagging him silly and squeezing him tight and nuzzling his neck, casual as you please, until they passed this ludicrous test, and were allowed to be free. And then, the sex would dry up and the cuddles would stop, and Crowley would be put firmly back in the role of “dear friend”. Just the thought of it had him hissing with dismay from his hiding place under Aziraphale’s bed. 

“I need to go home,” he whispered, slithering out from under the end of the bed, away from where Aziraphale was kneeling. “Plantsssss need me. Dussssssting to do.”

He slithered halfway down the stairs, aware that Aziraphale had risen to come after him, and not bothering to look back, before he remembered to shift back to human form. And then he realized belatedly that he was naked, and snapped himself dressed as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the door of the shop. 

“Crowley wait!” Aziraphale’s concerned cry rang out, but Crowley ignored him, preferring to make a hasty getaway before Aziraphale could come to his senses and reject him for good. He was through the door and out to his Bently in no time. Gladly, Aziraphale did not follow him out onto the pavement. Instead, he stood in the doorway, hands clasped at his chest, face contorted with worry as he watched Crowley squeal away towards home. Crowley felt like a proper git for running off like he was, but what else was he to do? Simply wait for the proverbial guillotine to drop? Wait for Aziraphale to bring up his slipped confession and caringly, gently explain to Crowley that he just didn’t feel the same? 

Crowley could just hear the angel now,

_Crowley dear, this has been very enjoyable, but I just don’t see you like that. You’ve been a good friend all these years, but… that’s all this is. A pair of friends having a good time together._ He could imagine quite well the look of Aziraphale’s soft, blue-gray eyes, looking at him with careful sympathy, and it made him cringe inside.

He was so _stupid_. He hadn’t been diligent enough. He’d let the angel’s highly skilled mouth and force of his orgasm pull a confession from him, and now it was all over. Crowley cursed at himself in five different languages, two of which were so old and dead that a dedicated group of far too educated historians in a small university somewhere had probably built their careers on trying to reconstruct them. 

He decided to go home to his flat and get as blind drunk as possible. That way, he wouldn’t have to deal with the epic amounts of self hatred and fear coursing through every capillary in his human corporation. 

He pulled up haphazardly in front of his building and made his way up to his flat, gritting his teeth and scowling the whole way. Soon, he was sitting on his silly red velvet throne, a bottle of whiskey clasped in his hand, well on his way to total inebriation. By the time his ancient landline telephone rang, twenty minutes later, he had to squint one eye in order to reach for it without knocking it off the table. 

“Hello?” he managed to say into the receiver after he’d lifted it clumsily to his ear. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s worried, far too chipper voice spilled into his ear on the other end. “Crowley dearest, what’s wrong? Why did you run off so quickly? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything angel. Nothing at all.” Crowley replied, knowing he sounded maudlin, but unable to stop himself. “Thass the problem innit? You’re not doing anything atall.”

“Whatever do you mean Crowley? Can I come over?”

_Oh dear Satan_

“No!” Crowley yelled belligerently into the telephone. “No you can’t _come over_. If you’re going to end it with me, then you very well better end it now, over thuh telephephone.” 

“End it?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded utterly confused. “That’s it,” he continued, shifting into a determined tone that Crowley knew only too well. “I’m coming over. Just you try and stop me.” And then the bastard rang off. Crowley tilted his head back and stared at the buzzing receiver.


	14. Chapter 14

Gabriel had been nervous when he’d woken up alone in the hotel room after his blazing hot night of sex with Beelzebub. He couldn’t help but feel a stab of panic to find himself in bed without her there in his arms. But his fear had been assuaged a few moments later when he’d spied a small note on black paper, folded and resting on her pillow, where her tousled head had been. He’d eagerly unfolded it and read the spidery red script that crawled across the page. 

_Gabriel. Lets meet up again soon. We need to get back to watching tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber. Stakeout later today? Then dinner?_

_\-- Beeze._

She _did_ care! He felt his heart soaring inside his chest as he read and reread the little note, then tucked it away in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 

They met at four o’clock outside the angel’s bookshop, inside the surveillance van, this time with a bakery company’s logo emblazoned on the side. Beelzebub had cast a few flirty glances at him from the passenger seat, and she’d let him rest his hand on her upper thigh, even covering it with her own little one, stroking his fingers with hers in a way that had him squirming a bit in the driver’s seat. 

They mostly kept their eyes forward, watching the shop for signs that the angel and the demon were leaving to go on another outing. They could feel the ridiculous duo’s presence inside the bookshop, but only as a vague energy. It was impossible to tell what they were saying and doing because both of them (in a move that was uncharacteristically intelligent) had put up wards against both celestial and demonic influences. 

They were rewarded for their patience, when an hour later, Crowley had barreled from the shop and hurled himself into his ridiculous antique car, squealing away from the curb and off towards his flat as Aziraphale had stood in the doorway and watched him go with a sad look on his face. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Beelzebub offered, raising a finely shaped eyebrow at Gabriel. 

“I wonder,” Gabriel mused, still somewhat distracted by how Beelzebub had interlaced their fingers where his hand was resting on her warm leg. “Should we follow him?”

“I think so, but first we have to send them that note.. Remember?”

“Oh yes. Right.” The note. They quickly settled on simple language and sent two identical notes to both the angel and the demon via dual spells. 

They read: _Time is running out. If you can’t convince us you’re a real couple by the end of this week, you’ll be arrested. It won’t go so well the second time around._

Then they’d driven off to stakeout Crowley’s flat. If the demon didn’t make an appearance within a few hours, they’d head back to Aziraphale’s to check in on the angel. All of this meant that they’d be spending most of the evening together, and that made Gabriel happy in a way he was unused to. 

They pulled up outside Crowley’s building in Mayfair and parked the van a discreet distance down the block, but still within view of the windows of the demon’s sitting room on the top floor. Beelzebub took out her pair of binoculars and peered through them, trying to catch a glimpse of Crowley. Gabriel took this opportunity to let his eyes play over her body in the seat next to him. 

She was back in her casual attire of ripped jeans and a faded black t-shirt. Her small curves accentuated somewhat by the tight clothing, her hair a casual mess atop her head. Just looking at her had him getting excited. He reached out a hand and casually caressed her upper thigh. She slapped his hand away but grinned slyly as she kept her eyes glued to the binoculars. 

“Someone’s randy this evening,” she teased. 

“I can’t help it,” he replied, hoping she’d be receptive to his requests for touch. “You look so good. I’m having trouble keeping my hands to myself.” He reached out again, this time, grabbing her upper thigh and squeezing it with his big, strong hand. She moaned softly and let her head fall back against the seat of the van, her hand that held the binoculars dipping to rest against her other leg. 

“Mmmmmm” she hummed as he continued squeezing her thigh, moving his hand upwards towards the crease of her hip. “That feels good.” 

“Why don’t you climb over here and keep me company?” he asked, holding his breath momentarily as he waited for her response. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far. Yet he needed to touch her, to be closer to her than just sitting next to her in the driver’s seat of this silly van. 

“We have a job to do,” she replied softly, but contradicted her words by sliding her hand up his arm to squeeze his shoulder in a way that conveyed a very unprofessional motive. 

He dared to reach for and fondle one of her small breasts with his hand, and was pleased when she gasped and threw her head back, arching gently into his touch. He could feel her nipple harden, a sharp little point of flesh under the material of her t-shirt and he felt himself instantly go rock hard in response to the feel of that tender little nub under the palm of his hand. 

In an instant she was out of her seat and straddling him, her mouth crashing against his in a desperate kiss. His arms came up and around her, pressing her small, lithe body to his own as they kissed, messy and desperate. 

“Oh fuck, I need you. _Now,_ ” she murmured against his lips, grinding herself down onto his length through both sets of their clothes. “Lock the doors. Let's get in the back.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the power locks on the van’s doors clicked into place simultaneously. He awkwardly got out of the driver’s seat, still holding Beelzebub to him and stumbled to the back of the van, laying her down on a soft mattress that hadn’t been there two seconds prior. Very quickly, they’d snapped themselves out of their clothes and she was writhing beneath him in a way that had his breath coming short and his skin tingling with want.

“Oh God, Lord Beelzebub,” he moaned. “you feel so very good.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” She replied, grinning against his mouth. 

  
  


______________________________________________________________________

  
  


Crowley heard the knock on his door and knew it was Aziraphale. To make matters worse, mere seconds before the angel had arrived, he’d spied a note from Beelzebub sitting on his dining room table. 

_Time is running out. If you can’t convince us you’re a real couple by the end of this week, you’ll be arrested. It won’t go so well the second time around._

Great. This was just splendid. Aziraphale was knocking on the door, wanting to _talk_ about their _feelings_ for each other, and here was this note, demanding yet again that they prove their _feelings_ were legitimate. Crowley wasn’t good at feelings. He never had been. At least not the ones involving his heart's desires. He was quite familiar with the feelings of anxiety, fear and dread, and of the feelings that he needed a long nap or a drink. But the delicate, soft, incessant feelings of love and affection and desire for the plump, fussy angel who’d been his semi-constant companion for six thousand years were far more difficult to discuss or dissect. 

He grudgingly slunk over to the door and opened it to reveal a very anxious Aziraphale on the other side. The angel’s hands were twisting together in front of his soft, waistcoat covered belly, and he was gnawing at his lower lip, eyes crinkled with worry, brow furrowed with obvious concern. Crowley hated to see him like this, but at least they were both suffering now, instead of Crowley feeling alone in all his twisting anguish over their deepening fake relationship. It wasn’t a kind thought but it gave him a grim sort of reassurance.

He wordlessly stepped back from the doorway allowing Aziraphale entry to the flat and sauntered casually over to his sofa to have a seat knowing the angel would follow him. And follow him he did. Aziraphale came to sit next to Crowley, keeping a careful distance between them, his hands still nervously twisting in his lap, still looking distraught. 

“Did you see the note?” Crowley asked, pulling the folded, black piece of paper from his pocket. 

“I did just now, before I knocked. It appeared in my pocket and I felt it there, humming away with angelic power.” Aziraphale pulled out a white piece of paper and unfolded it, holding it next to Crowley’s black and red note. Both notes said the same thing. 

Crowley sighed. “Let's get this over with,” he said. “I know you came here to say something, and you should say it. Don’t spare my feelings. Just spit it out.”

Aziraphale had the gall to look confused. “What are you talking about my dear? I came here because you ran off as if you thought I’d contracted the plague. I wanted to see what was the matter. And if… I’d done anything wrong.”

Crowley couldn’t handle the soft concern echoing in the angel’s storm colored eyes, and so he got up from the sofa and strode over to his window, looking down at the street and away from Azriaphale’s concerned gaze. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said sullenly. “I just needed some space.”

“I’ve crowded you. I knew it.” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on a guilty tone, and Crowley flinched at the sound of it. “I knew it, with the way I always have to be the one to initiate things. I knew I was pushing you. Why are you so polite Crowley? If I was too much for you, if you didn’t want what I offered, then why did you keep accepting it?”

“Because I _do_ want what you’re offering!” Crowley exclaimed in anguish, still unable to look at the angel. He stared miserably down at the street. A large, white van with a bakery company logo emblazoned along the side was parked against the curb, several yards down the street from his flat. “I just can’t ask for it. I thought agreeing when you wanted to _practice_ would be enough. It would be simply too difficult for me to initiate anything.”

“But why?” Aziraphale’s anguish was tainted with genuine curiosity. “Why won’t you act first? Why won’t you take the lead? Is it because you’re not attracted to me?” The last was said in a gentle, broken tone that made Crowley’s heart clench painfully inside his chest. 

He was about to respond, to tell Aziraphale that he was the most attractive thing Crowley had ever seen, consequences be damned, when a strange movement out the window caught his eye. “Come here a second,” he said instead, beckoning to Aziraphale to join him at the window. “Do you see that van down there?”

Aziraphale joined him at the window and two of them peered down to the street at the vehicle parked below. It was rocking back and forth. “Why is that van shaking so much?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley struggled not to be distracted by his nearness as they both peered down at the rocking vehicle below. 

Crowley was desperate for a way to escape this painful and ultimately depressing conversation. “Let's go investigate,” he said, striding toward the door. 

“Crowley! Wait. Why-” Aziraphale, obviously distressed, trotted after him as he made his way out of the front door and to the lift. “Why must you run away again?” The angel asked him, a touch breathless as the lift carried them down to the street. 

“I’m not running away. I’m simply curious as to why there’s a baker’s van parked in front of my building that’s rocking back and forth like it’s host to a dog fight.” Crowley replied, as the lift landed on the ground floor with a soft jolt and the doors dinged open. He strode out of the flat and onto the street with Aziraphale at his heels. The two of them slowed as they approached the van. There was no one in the front seats, and no windows on the sides, so they crept their way around to the back. There were a pair of darkly tinted windows in the back, but if they cupped their hands and peered in, they could make out the van’s interior. 

A couple were having sex inside, their heads closer to the window, their bodies writhing together on a mattress of some sort, feet towards the front of the vehicle. A man, well muscled and large was supporting himself on his arms and pounding into a smaller person beneath him with sharp thrusts of his hips. His head was hanging down, and at first Crowley couldn’t make out his identity.

He heard Aziraphale gasp next to him as realization dawned on him simultaneously. “Oh my sweet lord,” the angel whispered. Crowley smothered a laugh with a quick hand to his mouth and both of them leapt away from the van door, ducking around the side of the van to huddle together staring at each other with their eyes wide, jaws gaping. The sex inside went on unabated. 

Crowley wasn’t quite able to process what he’d just seen, and it looked like the angel was struggling similarly to process what he’d witnessed in the back of the van. 

“It can’t be,” he whispered, pulling Aziraphale with him back toward the entrance way to his flat by the elbow. Aziraphale went willingly, or at least, he was too shocked to resist, and was led back to the foyer and into the lift back up to Crowley’s flat with his face seemingly stuck in a shocked expression.

“It must be,” the angel replied numbly as the lift dinged open and admitted them into the short hallway before Crowley’s door. “How? They… how could they? Wha- it…” He seemed at a complete loss for words, or the ability to string them together in a coherent sentence as he followed Crowley back into his flat. 

“They’re shagging.” Crowley supplied helpfully. “Our bosses are shagging.” He walked over to his sofa and sank down onto it numbly, his mind whirring with this strange new reality. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Aziraphale did look a bit green, and he had a hand pressed to the center of his soft belly as if he felt ill. “Gabriel and…. Beelzebub? But… but… that’s…”

“That’s a lot like what you and me have going on angel,” Crowley reminded him before Aziraphale could get too sanctimonious. He saw Aziraphale’s cheeks color and his eyes drop coyly to the floor at the demon's reminder. 

“Yes, but what we have is something between good friends. Something we’re doing in order to save both of our lives.” 

Crowley hoped Aziraphale didn’t see his flinch at the mention of their passionate affair being nothing more than a way to save their lives. 

“They hate one another,” Aziraphale continued, his voice full of a nauseated sort of confusion. “They _loathe_ each other. However did they go from hating the sight of one another to… to…”

“Fucking?” supplied Crowley, ignoring Aziraphale’s disapproving glare at his improper language. “Look angel, I don’t like it any more than you do. It frankly curdles my stomach to think of two people I respect probably the least in all the world getting naked and squishing their bits together, but, now that I think of it, it kind of makes sense. They’re both utter twats. They’re both power hungry, shifty, backstabbing tyrants. And they’ve been working together a lot recently. I mean, you and I developed our... f-friendship that way didn’t we?” He internally kicked himself for stumbling over the word _friendship_ because it didn’t apply to them any longer, but he didn’t feel right saying _relationship_ or, Satan forbid _affair._

“Well… yes, I suppose.” Aziraphale sank down on the sofa next to him, and Crowley tried to ignore his delightful smell of vanilla and bergamot. “What shall we do now?” He asked, looking at Crowley with confusion plain in his eyes. 

“Hmmm… “ mused Crowley. “We might be able to work this to our advantage. This situation is ripe for blackmail.”

“Oh Crowley, we mustn’t!” Crowley turned and saw Aziraphale looking at him with the shocked surprise of a grandmother in church who’s just been told that strippers would be passing around the collection plate. “That’s not right!”

“Oh come off it angel. I don’t remember you putting up much of a fuss when you tempted that clan leader to steal some cattle. Or any of the other hundreds of little temptations you’ve helped me with.”

“I did indeed put up a fuss!” Aziraphale, sensing that his angelic purity was being called into question, rallied fervently. “I also fought you on the whole idea of The Arrangement for centuries. _And_ I heartily disapproved of us stopping Armageddon, if you’ll remember. I’m an _angel_. We don’t support sinning.”

“Unless of course it involves sucking a demon’s cock until he explodes in your mouth.” Crowley knew he wasn’t fighting fair, but it was worth it to see Aziraphale turn bright pink in the face and to watch his soft, pale blond eyelashes flutter as he cast his eyes down to his lap in embarrassment. 

“Crowley, don't be crass,” he muttered, but couldn’t help a small flirty smile from playing about his lips. 

Crowley wanted to lunge at him and snog him silly, but he held himself back, for the thousandth time this week and redirected them back to the conversation at hand. “Look, we _have_ to use this knowledge to our advantage. Our lives are on the line angel. If it were anything less, I’d say we could avoid getting involved, but they are actively persecuting us on behalf of our opposing sides, and they plan on _permanently discorporating us_. Now that we have proof that they’re shagging, we can get them in trouble with our home offices.”

“I think dearest that you might be putting the horse in front of the cart a bit here.” Aziraphale’ had on his gently chiding teacher voice, which Crowley found half charming and half incredibly irritating. 

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“We don’t actually have any _proof,_ ” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips and waiting for Crowley to catch up. 

“Oh shit! We have to get back down there and take some photos!” He flew off the sofa and over to the window to check on the van, but it was gone. “Shit, shit shit!” he cursed. “They’ve gone! Now how will we prove they’re shagging?”

“It’s quite simple my dear boy.” Aziraphale had drifted over to stand by Crowley’s shoulder, and he placed a hand on the small of the demon’s back, making delightful shivers cascade down Crowley’s spine. “We turn the tables and set up a trap.”


	15. Chapter 15

It was a relatively simple plan. Head out on a “date” to a secluded, romantic location, say a picnic at dusk, by the shore perhaps, and simply sit and chat while watching the sunset. They would have to be careful to be extra boring. Perhaps just holding hands and looking out at the water. Nothing that would keep Gabriel and Beelzebub overly interested. Then… simply let nature (or un-nature as Crowley pointed out with a chuckle) take its course. The pair had obviously started shagging because not that much was going on for them to surveil, and so Crowley and Azirphale would set them up in a remote location, conducive to romance, wait for them to get bored and start snogging, then sneak up on them and take a few photos with Crowley’s smartphone. 

Was it a fool proof plan? Clearly not. Did it stand a chance of coming to fruition? If the way Gabriel had been going to town on Beelzebub in the back of that van was any indication of the likelihood that they’d shag again, then Crowley was fairly certain it did. 

They planned their outing to the shore carefully, packing a picnic basket full of Aziraphale’s favorite foods and two bottles of very nice Merlot. It would give them ample opportunity to eat and drink and chat about the most boring topics they could think of, in order to entice the dastardly duo to finding amusement in sexual relations with each other. 

Crowley made sure his phone was fully charged, and they also made sure to drop several loud hints when they were out and about their beach plans during the day. Especially while walking past a large, white van with a moving company logo emblazoned on the side that was suspiciously parked a few spaces down from the bookshop. 

The days were running out, and they were forced to plan their beach trip for the day before their one month deadline to prove their relationship was a real one. It was cutting it close, but Crowley felt certain that his boss’ kinky side and apparent hunger for angel cock would win out over them having to prove that they were really in love. 

The day dawned bright and clear, a perfect day for a trip to the shore. They waited however until three o’clock, so that the two hour drive to a lovely secluded beach they’d found in the South Downs would get them there right as sunset was coloring the water with its neon orange and pink lights. They couldn’t go anywhere crowded, no tourist attractions or family beaches, wanting to set up the perfect spot for a romantic date for not only themselves, but for their pesky ex-supervisors to get randy with one another. Aziraphale had found a perfect spot. It was a small swath of clean, quiet beach with sandy dunes and grassy hills, immediately adjacent to a large house, probably owned by a wealthy beach goer who was out of town for the season. There were plenty of hiding places nearby for Gabriel and Beelzebub to hunker down and spy on them, and hopefully get into the mood for love. No one else had dared to walk down to this stretch of beach, probably because it was private property. But a pair of supernatural beings didn’t need to worry about such mundane issues as the laws of physics, let alone the laws of humans. 

There had been some discussion about how to find out when and if Gabriel and Beelzebub started getting it on, and Crowley had settled for a subtle but very intricate demonic spell. He’d worked on the particulars well into the night, drawing chalk patterns in loops and arcane squiggles, and lit a few candles for good measure. The spell was a tricky one. It allowed the person who cast it to send their auditory senses outward in a wide radius and then narrow them down to a target. The target would then be tethered to a simple object, a radio, a microphone, it helped if it were a listening or speaking device, but failing that, any object would do. The object would then broadcast the sounds from the targeted source, namely, Gabriel and Beelzeub’s conversation (or lack thereof if they started snogging). 

Crowley had tied the auditory spell to a large conch shell Aziraphale had been keeping high up on one of the shelves in his shop. They paired the shell with the spying angel and demon during a quick walk past the moving van that was still parked down the street. They’d bring the large, spiny shell with them to the beach and it would act as a transmitter radio. It also had the lucky quality of being of the ocean, and therefore less jarring on a trip to the beach than if they’d tied their auditory spy mechanism to say, a toaster or a teapot. And in yet another twist of demonic magic, it allowed the listeners who were spying on them to hear what Crowley and Aziraphale said to each other, without allowing them to hear their own voices echoing from the conch shell. It was all very complicated and Crowley was sweating and trembling with exhaustion by the time he’d finished with all the incantations it took to put the spell into motion, but it would all be well worth it if it paid off. 

  
  


After arriving at the beach, Aziraphale busied himself with laying out a tartan blanket and unpacking the prodigious picnic basket they’d brought. Thankfully, he’d dropped the subject of their feelings for each other after the shocking discovery that their ex bosses were doing the horizontal tango, but regrettably, he’d also stopped initiating sex with Crowley. Which of course meant they’d stopped having sex. 

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to make a first move on Aziraphale, and he couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject of their swiftly aborted shag-fest either, and so he’d settled begrudgingly back into the role of pining demon. Aziraphale didn’t look happy either. Several times since they’d spied Gabriel and Beelzebub going at it, he’d reached for Crowley, then had seemed to reconsider and let his hand drop. He’d also seemed on the verge of saying something (probably something Crowley wouldn’t want to hear). He’d open his mouth and an apprehensive expression would settle over his features, but then he’d shut his mouth again and turn away. 

It was incredibly awkward. Before, they’d had a lot of physical affection to at least partly make up for Crowley’s fears and insecurities. Now, that had died down and they were unsure of how to behave around one another. Crowley did his best to keep up the friendly patter they usually engaged in, but found himself falling silent more often as the touches and kind words from Aziraphale dried up in the wake of what Crowley had started thinking of as “The Fateful Blow Job.” 

They had their plan to focus on and that was a help. Crowley had lost himself briefly in the intricate workings of the spy spell he’d cooked up to help them listen in on Gabriel and Beelzebub. It had taken a lot of concentration and time and effort, and so it served to distract him from the fact that the angel was no longer reaching for him three times a day. And then he and Aziraphale had had to get their plan set, down to the smallest detail. What they’d talk about that would be boring enough to make Gabriel and Beelzebub lose interest in spying on them and turn their focus on each other. At what point they’d be free to sneak over to the two’s hideaway and catch them in the act. Whether still frames or video or both would be needed for the purposes of black mail. Whether to reveal themselves immediately, or simply confront the two at a later date. 

They’d decided that remaining silent would be the best course of action. No need to embarrass the two more than they were planning to anyway. Crowley, being the demon, had voted for as much embarrassment as possible, but Aziraphale, ever the conscientious angel had counseled caution. It was always good to allow one’s adversary to save face, he said. You never knew what would happen if you backed a pair of omnipotent beings into a corner. They might lash out, and so he reasoned it would be better to take their photos and videos of the pair in secret and then slink away. Only using the evidence if they were threatened again with arrest and punishment. Which they most certainly would be if Gabriel and Beelzebub had anything to say about it. 

There were many ways this plan could go wrong. The Archangel and lord of Hell could decide they didn’t want to follow them all the way to the seashore. They could follow them, but not be in the mood for love. They could grow wise to the listening spell, or somehow hear Aziraphale and Crowley sneaking up on them and catch them in the act, rather than the other way around. But it was the best chance they had to save their lives, and so they needed to give it a try. 

For his part, Crowley was tired of being stalked by Heaven and Hell. He was sick to death of looking over his shoulder and feeling watched. He had to acknowledge, grudgingly, that their scrutiny had shoved him coincidentally into Aziraphale’s arms. That Gabriel and Beelzebub’s threats had in fact led to the only and most profound sexual experiences of his long life, with a being he loved more than he dared to admit, even to himself. So it wasn’t all bad. But still, he wanted his freedom. Even if it meant an end to the dizzying, thrilling joy of fucking Aziraphale multiple times a week. He’d rather sit politely across a cafe table from the angel, secure in the knowledge that their immortal lives were not in danger, than he would have sex (even earth shattering, mind altering sex) with Aziraphale. The thought of his lifetime companion being discorported permanently made his blood run cold. He’d do literally anything to save Aziraphale’s life, and if he had to give up sex with the angel who’d stolen his heart, then that’s what he’d do. 

Still, it made him glum and moody to think that the passion they’d shared over the past two weeks would just be a flash in the pan. A passing thing that Aziraphale would wash his hands of with polite efficiency, while Crowley burned silently in anguish for the remainder of their relationship. 

At his side, Aziraphle had finished laying out the feast he’d brought, apricots, grapes, sliced cheeses, cured meats, little pastries with delicate garnishes of marzipan flowers or sugared berries. The angel knew how to pack a picnic basket. Even Crowley, who only ate from extreme boredom, or when Aziraphale insisted that he try a bite of something “simply divine” was tempted enough to pluck a few grapes and pop them into his mouth. He crunched the fruit with relish before pouring himself a generous glass of  Chenin blanc and lounging in what he hoped was a relaxed pose across the spread from the angel, who sat primly with his own glass of wine. 

Crowley cast his demonic awareness in a wide radius around their picnic site and could detect a faint glimmer of Beelzebub’s energy behind a sand dune, several hundred yards away. 

“How’s the book business going angel?” he asked, embarking on Phase One of their plan to say Truly Dull Things to each other. Aziraphale had at first balked at books being on the “boring list” of topics, but he’d finally relented when Crowley had explained that most people weren’t utterly thrilled by the topic of ancient literature the way the angel was. He happened to know for a fact that literature bored Beelzebub to tears and that Gabriel (to hear Aziraphale describe him) loathed books as well. Hopefully, prattling on about Aziraphale’s shop would have the spying angel and demon bored and randy inside of 30 minutes. If not, they had backup subjects involving different types of tea, the care and feeding of Crowley’s plants and a long and dull description of Aziraphale’s week long trip to the library of Alexandria to fall back on. 

Soon though, as the conch shell crackled to life and they could hear Gabriel and Beelzebub’s hushed words echoing from its pink depths, they realized all their conversational planning had been for naught.

_ What do you think they’re talking about? _ This, clearly from Beelzebub.

_ Who cares? It’s probably dull.  _ Gabriel’s condescending tone came through the shell loud and clear. 

“They can’t hear what we’re saying,” whispered Aziraphale, glancing at Crowley. 

“Huh. Well that’s good. Now, we only have to worry about  _ acting  _ dull, rather than  _ sounding _ dull.” 

“Well my dear, that shouldn’t be too difficult. We can simply sit here and watch the sunset and eat. I’m certain that will be suitably uninteresting.”

Crowley nodded in agreement as he reached for another grape. 

_ Shouldn’t they be.. I don’t know… kissing or something?  _ This also from Gabriel. An inarticulate noise that could have been a gag spat from the shell and Beelzebub responded. 

_ Probably, but that’s honestly not something I want to see. I say we watch for an hour or so, and then if nothing happens, we start in on Plan B _

“Plan B?” Aziraphale whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper angel, they can’t hear us,” Crowley reminded him. 

“Oh, right,” Aziraphale replied in a normal tone. “What do you think they meant by ‘Plan B’?”

“Satan only knows,” Crowley responded, stretching in a parody of languid relaxation, even though his stomach was in knots. 

_ This is DULL  _ Beelzebub’s tinny voice echoed from the conch shell. 

_ Well, if you want something to keep yourself occupied with, I have a few ideas…  _ This from Gabriel. Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look that was equal parts hopeful and mildly unsettled. 

_ Can’t you keep your mind off sex for five straight minutes? _ Beelzebub’s voice was irritable, but with a playful tone under the irritation that Crowley had never heard before and was frankly not sure he was alright with hearing now. 

_ I can’t when you’re nearby. In those jeans. Looking so delicious. _

Crowley fought down the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. Hearing these two utter wankers engaging in such blatant lover’s speech was both hilarious and more than a little uncomfortable. He glanced at Aziraphale and saw the angel’s lip curl in disgust at the come on lines echoing from the shell on the blanket between them. 

_ Shut up. You’re a horrible stakeout partner. You can’t ever seem to keep your hands to yourself.  _

_ Come on Beezie. Come a little closer _

_ Don’t call me that! I hate when you call me that.  _

_ Alright then… Lord Beelzebub. May I please touch you some more? _

Aziraphale’s eyebrows had crept skyward and Crowley felt his mouth hang open in shock. He supposed he should have expected something like this to transpire, but still, hearing his boss flirt so shamelessly with Aziraphale’s boss was bizarre. Very out of character for both of them. 

_ Well… if you’re extra obedient… I might just suck you off.  _

“Oh dear lord in heaven!” Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes going wide. “Crowley. I don’t think we should be listening to this. It’s … it’s…  _ indecent _ .”

“Come on, angel. Be brave. It’s for a good cause.” Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley wasn’t entirely repulsed by the situation. If he was honest with himself, it was sort of activating his well hidden voyeurism kink. He reached for some more grapes and lay back on the blanket, supporting his head in his hands as he crunched the sweet fruit in his teeth, waiting to see what they’d say next. 

“Are you… are you getting…  _ aroused _ ?” Aziraphale turned wide eyes in Crowley’s direction, taking in the obvious bulge in his tight trousers. 

“I’m a demon. What did you expect?” Crowley grinned, canting his hips for emphasis as he took a substantial sip of his wine. “They’re bound to start doing it any minute now,” he said, noticing that Aziraphale appeared to have a bit of trouble tearing his eyes away from Crowley’s crotch.  _ At least he wants another taste _ , Crowley thought.  _ Even if he can’t love me back _ .

“It does seem that way, yes,” said Aziraphale, pink about the cheeks and still casting sideways glances at Crowley. “When do we circle back and sneak up on them?”

“Let's give it a few more minutes. They really have to be … involved before we creep over there, or else they’ll notice us for sure. Did you redo your wardings this morning like I suggested?”

“Of course I did. What sort of a fool do you take me for?” Aziraphale tugged down on his waistcoat before absently popping a small raspberry tart in his mouth, looking for all the world like a ruffled snowy owl during feeding time at the zoo. 

_ Mmmm yes. Grab my arse like that. Harder.  _ This from Beelzebub. Aziraphale blanched. Crowley grinned. 

_ May I kiss you Lord Beelzebub? _ Gabriel’s voice had a soft, submissive quality about it that was so unusual that for a moment, both angel and demon looked at each other in confusion, unable to recognize who had spoken. 

“Dear Satan, is that  _ Gabriel? _ ” Crowley’s eyebrows launched themselves toward his hairline. 

“It must be,” Aziraphale mused, slowly chewing his next tart and reaching for a pile of grapes. He always ate when he was stressed or confused, and Crowley was willing to bet he was both right now. 

_ Very well, but we need to keep an eye on those two. _

_ Why? _ This from a more normal sounding Archangel  _ They haven’t done anything but eat and look at the ocean for the past twenty minutes. And, if our little experiment is going to work, we really should be… you know… mixing essences at every opportunity. _

Experiment? Mixing essences? Crowley’s eyes leapt to Aziraphale’s and they shared a confused look. 

_ Very well, I suppose a little fun wouldn’t hurt. They do seem dreadfully boring tonight.  _

A faint rustling of fabric issued from the conch shell, and then the unmistakable smacking sounds of a pair of lips coming together. Aziraphale flinched and grimaced. Crowley rolled onto his belly and started thrusting gently down into the warm, blanket covered sand beneath him. He hated that listening to his ex bosses getting it on at a distance was getting him so worked up, but six thousand years of eyeing the object of his sexual desires from a distance had made him a bit kinky. It didn’t matter so much that it was  _ Gabriel and Beelzebub _ doing the shagging. It was that he had a secret way to listen in that was making him rock hard. That, and of course the fact that Aziraphale was right here, blushing and looking oh-so-offended. Why did that make the whole thing worse? Or rather… better?

“Crowley, please. Contain yourself,” Aziraphale scolded, but Crowley could see the telltale signs that the angel was also getting excited. His cheeks were dusted with the pink of a new blush, as were the tips of his ears, and he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of Crowley’s gently thrusting hips. On top of that, he’d strategically crossed his legs to hide what Crowley assumed was his own stiffening erection. 

Crowley also knew that it wasn’t the slurping noises and soft moans coming from the conch shell that was getting the angel aroused. It was Crowley himself,  _ his _ obvious arousal that was inflaming Aziraphale. That felt good. To know he was still desired. If they weren’t on a mission to blackmail their bosses, Crowley might have worked up the nerve to crawl over to Aziraphale and kiss him. To pull him down on the silly tartan blanket he’d brought and do all the things he’d been dreaming of. Instead, he cleared his throat and willed his hips to stop moving. 

“We’re almost at go time,” he said, cocking his ear at the shell and listening for the sounds and words that would signify that the Archangel and lord of Hell would be taking things further. He didn’t have to wait long. 

_ I seem to remember something you said about sucking me off?  _ Gabriel’s voice was soft and dreamy and it made Crowley almost feel ashamed of spying on him in a moment of vulnerability. But then he remembered that the Archangel had told Aziraphale (or the being he’d thought was Aziraphale) to ‘shut up and die already’, and he didn’t feel so bad any more. 

_ I said I’d suck you off if you were obedient enough. And you definitely haven’t been, _ Beelzebub replied, also sounding softer and gentler than she normally did. 

_ What must I do to prove my obedience lord? Please tell me. _

_ Mmmmm. I like how willing you are to submit to me. Very well. Put your arms over your head. Don’t touch me unless you get my permission first. _

“Holy shit, they are  _ so kinky, _ ” Crowley said through a chuckle, absently reaching his hand down to stroke himself above his trousers while he listened. Aziraphale made a strangled sound in response, but otherwise, kept quiet. 

_ I see you’ve started without me _ . 

The teasing, flirtatious note in Beelzebub’s voice was so alien to Crowley that it did indeed sound like a different person. He’d never heard his grim supervisor come close to any tone other than disapproval, anger or boredom in the entire time he’d known her, and now, she sounded like… well, like a phone sex operator. The cognitive dissonance wasn’t helping his erection go down, but the mix of arousal and confusion was disconcerting to say the least. After this was all over, if they were able to avoid arrest and permanent discorporation, he’d have to have a long, hard look at his sexual proclivities. No pun intended. 

_ I can’t help it. Being near you gets me so excited. _

_ You’re a naughty angel, getting such a BIG, HARD erection just from looking at a demon. My my my, what would Heaven say if they could see you now? _

“What would Heaven say indeed,” muttered Aziraphale. Crowley shot a glance at him to see him still tracking the lazy movement of Crowley’s hand on his cock with hungry eyes, but he appeared to be relaxing into the reality of the situation, making snarky little comments as he was wont to do when he disapproved of something he also found mildly entertaining. Crowley grinned at him. 

“It’s almost time angel. I say the minute she starts sucking him, we sneak on over there and get some pictures.”

“Yes, if we must,” sighed the angel, keeping his legs crossed and still shooting interested glances over at Crowley, but managing somehow to look like a stern librarian in the process.

As if on cue, they heard a long, low moan that must have been from Gabriel, followed by a gasp and then a hushed  _ Oh my! Lord Beelzebub! _

“I think we can head over there now.” Crowley said, beginning to get to his feet and reaching for his smartphone. “I doubt either of them are watching us right now.”

Aziraphale nodded and got to his feet as well. Crowley was deeply satisfied to see a matching bulge in the front of the angel’s cream colored trousers as he straightened up and brushed himself off. He didn’t mention it though, knowing that ribbing Aziraphale about something so embarrassing would only make him stubborn and uncomfortable. Right now, they needed to be calm and stealthy. 

Both angel and demon double checked their wards to make sure they’d be hard to spot and to shield their demonic and angelic energy signatures from prying eyes, and they started creeping along the edge of the beach, towards the sand dune behind which their ex supervisors were currently doing very naughty things. 

As they got closer, they slowed their pace and bent over double, getting into super sneak mode. By the time they could hear the noises of the lovemaking happening behind the now nearby dune, they’d dropped to hands and knees and were crawling forward, shoulder to shoulder, inching their way to their bosses’ hiding spot. 

Luckily for them, there was a plethora of sea grasses sprouting in thick clumps around the dune in question and so they could find a good hiding spot from which to spy and take pictures. They rounded the side of a sandy hill and were suddenly greeted with a sight neither of them had thought they’d ever be exposed to in a million years. Gabriel lay on his back in the sand, fully clothed, and from their vantage point, all they could see of Beelzebub was her dark, shaggy head, bobbing slowly up and down above Gabriel’s mid section. The Archangel had his hands raised above his head. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth was agape, and he was moaning softly as Beelzebub worked him over. 

Crowley and Aziraphale hunkered down in the tall grasses and got as low as they could, praying they wouldn't be seen by the busy pair. Crowley swiftly whipped out his smartphone and took a few choice shots of the action below. Unfortunately, Beelzebub’s face could not be seen. They’d have to get at least one shot of her face to prove that it was the lord of Hell herself that was sucking off the Archangel Gabriel. Otherwise no one would believe them. To compensate, because at the moment, Beelzebub was far too engrossed in what she was doing with her mouth to lift her head and afford them a glimpse of her face, he shot some video. 

“Oh fuck, lord Beelzebub. Oh fuck, your mouth feels so good. You’re sucking me so good.” Gabriel gasped out in a hushed voice.

_ “That ought to help build our case,”  _ Crowley whispered to Aziraphale, who at this point was pressing himself a bit closer to Crowley than was absolutely necessary. 

“ _ Yes, quite, _ ” the angel ageed. 

“ _ We need to see her face, _ ” he whispered back. 

Aziraphale nodded, and they turned their attention back down to the busy pair. 

“Please, please lord Beelzebub, may I touch your hair?” Gabriel begged breathlessly. This caused Beelzebub to pull her lips up and off of his cock to reply to him, which subsequently brought her pale face into view under her tangled locks of dark hair. 

“You may,” she said, trying to sound stern, but not doing a very good job of it, considering what she’d just been doing - fellating a high ranking angel with apparent enthusiasm. 

Crowley quickly took a few pictures and some video as the pair went back and forth a few times over the exact manner in which he was allowed to touch her hair, and he babbled out his thanks as if he’d just been given the greatest gift imaginable. 

“ _ What a wanker, _ ” Crowley whispered, being careful to keep his voice almost subvocal and leaning very close to Aziraphale’s ear to do so, afraid of being overheard in this crucial moment. 

“ _ I feel like under the present circumstances, it is lord Beelzebub who appears to be doing the wanking, _ ” The angel whispered back, and Crowley turned impressed eyes briefly in Aziraphale’s direction before they both looked back down to the action. 

Crowley turned on the camera on his cellular just as Gabriel started gearing up to what looked to be an impressive orgasm. Aziraphale had turned his face into Crowley’s neck so that he wouldn’t have to watch, but Crowley had to make sure he caught the most salacious bits so that he’d have plenty of damning evidence to provide their superiors as blackmail. He had a secondary motive in that he was still rock hard and throbbing from the secretive element of what they were doing, and made a mental note to talk to Aziraphale about some voyeuristic roleplay they could maybe experiment with if he were ever allowed to fuck the angel again. As it stood now, Aziraphale’s hot breath against his neck as the angel nuzzled close and hid his face from the ongoing blow job below was making him feel like he could probably reach orgasm himself if Aziraphale would just let him rub up against him for two minutes. 

Regardless, he steadfastly held the cellular phone’s camera steady on the pair as Beelzebub, Satan bless her, worked diligently to bob up and down on Gabriel’s rather impressive cock, and Gabriel tightened his hands in her hair and started making high pitched gasping noises. 

“Oh! Oh god! Oh Beelzebub! I’m… I’m going to…” He never finished his sentence because his eyes rolled back in his head and he cried out as he came. 

Eventually, his upward thrusts into the diminutive demon’s mouth slowed and stopped and she stiffly raised her head, letting his cock slip from her lips. 

“ _ You can look now angel. It’s over, _ ” he whispered into Aziraphale’s hair, wishing they could go somewhere and do a little interdepartmental mingling of their own. 

“ _ I know it’s over, _ ” Aziraphale whispered hotly against Crowley’s neck. “ _ I still don’t want to look. _ ”

Beelzebub had wiped a hand across her mouth and had crawled up to lie next to a panting, very satisfied and slightly stunned looking Gabriel. He promptly turned and wrapped her in his long arms, enveloping her completely and nuzzling his face into her hair… and she…she  _ let him do it. _

“ _ Oh sweet Satan, they’re… they’re… cuddling,”  _ he said, his whisper laced through with shock and mild disgust. 

This time Aziraphale did untuck himself from Crowley’s neck to peer cautiously down on the pair. “ _ My, isn’t that sweet. _ ”

Crowley looked at him as if he’d just called roadkill adorable, but he supposed if being a peeping Tom did it for Crowley, he could forgive Aziraphale’s angelic love of all things soft and sentimental. 

They were interrupted in their whispered discussion of the moral correctness of two beings who were complete and utter prats being cozy and sweet to one another by one of the aforementioned beings speaking up. 

“Do you think we should give Plan B a try?” Gabriel asked, his voice muffled somewhat by his face being shoved into Beelzebub’s hair. 

“Maybe…” she seemed hesitant. “Better check in on those morons first. Maybe they’ll propose marriage or shag each other or do something interesting so we don’t have to resort to Plan B.”

“ _ Shit! _ ” Crowley swiftly snapped his fingers to create an illusion of he and Aziraphale sitting back at their picnic spot. He couldn’t handle much diversity with such short notice, but managed to set up an image of them sitting, looking out at the water, and at the sunset that was now coloring the lapping waves in scarlet and bright, neon orange hues as it sank beneath the horizon. It wasn’t nuanced, but it would do for a few brief looks through the binoculars. 

Just as threatened, Gabriel groaned and disengaged himself from Beelzebub long enough to pick up his pair of binoculars and peer through the eye pieces at what he thought was a picnicking angel and demon, but was little more than a demonic mirage. 

“Ugh.They’re still just sitting there. I swear, if those two actually are in a romantic relationship, it’d be the dullest one on record.”

“ _ That twat! _ ” whispered Crowley through clenched teeth. “ _ Our relationship is thrilling and exciting. _ ” Then what he’d just said swiftly dawned on him. “ _ I mean, our friendship. It’s not dull. We have a lot of interesting… conversations.” _ He hoped he wasn’t back pedaling too obviously. Aziraphale for his part didn’t seem to mind. 

“ _ Of course my dear, _ ” he replied quietly, placing a reassuring hand on Crowley’s arm as he peered through the long sea grasses at the spot where their arch nemeses had resumed cuddling. “ _ I’m well aware that our relationship is quite exciting and engaging. _ ”

Gabriel was speaking again, and so the pair tuned in. 

“I brought mine, did you bring yours?” he asked, and Beelzebub nodded and turned to face him. 

“Are you sure?” She asked, sounding apprehensive. “If they’re lying then this could go very badly.”

“But what if they aren’t?” Gabriel countered. “Everyone we spoke to, that witch and her boyfriend, the old lady and that horrid man with that ridiculous accent all seemed convinced they were madly in love.”

Crowley felt his body temperature rise steadily as he realized that 1) Gabriel was speaking of him and Aziraphale, and 2) that apparently all the humans they knew thought they were an item. Was his semi-constant pining  _ that  _ obvious?

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably beside him, and he hoped the angel wasn’t too put off by the idea that all of their friends thought they were dating. 

“If they’re not lying, then we’ve solved their little mystery.” This from Gabriel again. “Exchanging sexual fluids causes immunity to Hellfire  _ and _ holy water!”

“ _ Oh no. _ ” Crowley had a growing suspicion that he knew what Plan B might entail. He shot a sideways glance at Aziraphale, but the angel hadn’t caught on yet. 

“And can you imagine?” Gabriel continued. “If we had that same power, simply from … having sex. What other things could we do I wonder?”

“And if they  _ are  _ lying?”

“Well then, we’ll start really small. Just a flicker or a couple of drops. If any harm comes to us, we’ll heal ourselves and stop.”

“Alright then,” Beelzebub agreed.

“ _ Ohhh no _ ,” whispered Crowley. “ _ They’re planning to try out Holy water and Hellfire on each other _ !”

“ _ Those idiots! _ ” Aziraphale whispered, but so loudly that Beelzebub lifted her head and peered toward their hiding place. Crowley could almost hear the fly buzz of her suspicion, even from this distance of several yards. 

The angel and demon froze, stopping their need to breath or for their hearts to beat as Beelzebub and Gabriel peered in their direction for a few seconds. Luckily, their wards held and the Archangel and lord of Hell turned back towards each other again, none the wiser. 

“ _ Those utter fools, _ ” hissed Crowley. “ _ Don’t they know that just one tiny flicker or one drop is enough to completely discorporate themselves??” _

“ _ Apparently, they spent far more time ordering celestial and demonic punishments than reading the instruction manuals, _ ” Aziraphale agreed, being careful to keep his voice very soft and low in Crowley’s ear. 

They looked on in mild horror as Gabriel did up his trousers and reached for a black bag that until now had been tucked away under the blanket they’d laid down in their hiding place. Beelzebub pulled out her own bag, also black, from somewhere out of their view and the two ended up kneeling across from each other on the blanket, bags in hand, twin looks of mild apprehension and excitement on their faces. 

“ _ We can’t let them do this! _ ” Aziraphale’s whisper had taken on a rough undertone of genuine concern. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “ _ Are you nuts? We have to let them do this! _ ” he whispered back. “ _ With them dead and gone, they’ll be off our backs for good. _ ”

“ _ Do you really think those two are the only angels and demons trying to persecute us? _ ” Aziraphale replied. “ _ Next it might be Uriel and Hastur. They said there’d been an inquest didn’t they? That means multiple interested parties _ .” Here he turned and fixed Crowley with a reproachful look, his light blond brows furrowing over lovely, blue-gray eyes. “ _ And besides all that Crowley, I’m an angel. I can’t stand by and let anyone destroy themselves. Even my worst enemy. It’s not right.” _

Several yards away, Gabriel and Beelzebub had pulled matching glass vials out of their black bags. One held Holy Water, gleaming orange in the dying light of the setting sun. The other held a whirling flame of Hellfire, burning a brighter, flickering orange, so that at first glance, it almost looked as if both vials contained the same material. Their hands were poised on the stoppers, clearly intending on opening them, when Crowley decided that Aziraphale was right. Or at least that Aziraphale probably wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t intervene. 

“Wait!” He yelled, scrambling to his feet from the patch of thick sea grasses behind which they’d been hiding. Aziraphale got clumsily to his feet as well and stood uncertainly beside Crowley as Beelzebub and Gabriel swiveled twin, surprised expressions in their direction. “You can’t do that! You’ll discorporate yourselves!” He continued as he walked closer to where the two were kneeling, still looking shocked. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Beelzebub growled, her face scrunching into a distasteful scowl as she watched Crowley approach. 

“Aziraphale! What are you doing here?!” Gabriel demanded at almost the exact same time, wearing his best disapproving Archangel glower.

“We… um… we were spying on you.” Crowley admitted sheepishly, feeling his cheeks heating up at the insane awkwardness of their present situation. 

“You were  _ what??”  _ Beelzebub’s face had now contorted itself into a rictus of pure rage. 

Crowley forged on bravely. “We were spying on you to get blackmail footage of the two of you… you know… doing stuff, so that you couldn’t turn us in to the tribunal or whatever group of arseholes you’re in league with that want us permanently discorporated.”

“You… you have footage?” This from Gabriel who gulped audibly and looked completely stricken.

“I’ll murder you, you slimy snake!” Growled Beelzebub, getting to her feet, presumably to launch herself at Crowley. 

“Hey hey hey now!” He leapt backward, brandishing his cellular, but holding it back, away from the tiny, enraged demon. “Let's not be hasty now. I have pictures _ and _ video footage of you two doing things that would have both of you on trial in five seconds flat. All I have to do is hit send, and the whole lot gets emailed to Michael and Hastur.”

He smiled with satisfaction as Beelzebub stilled and sat back down, her eyes still echoing with murderous rage. “There, now maybe we can talk? Like civilized beings?” Crowley gave the pair a wide berth as he and Aziraphale stepped a little closer and sat down a few feet from their ex superiors. 

“Aziraphale. I’m ashamed of you.” Gabriel, never missing an opportunity to try and knock Aziraphale down a peg, had put on his worst, most officious disapproving glare. “Not only are you consorting with a filthy demon, but you’re spying on your supervisors. This is behavior not becoming of an angel.”

Aziraphale, bless him, didn’t flinch. Instead, he fixed Gabriel with a steady gaze, while crossing his arms. “Gabriel, might I remind you that you’ve just been caught, being fellated by a _filthy_ _demon_ , not five minutes ago? You are hardly the one to be throwing stones at this point.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure he’d seen anything quite so satisfying as the look of colorless dread that made its way across Gabriel’s face. 

“And another thing,” Aziraphale continued, sniffing with disdain. “You are  _ not _ our supervisors any longer. We don’t work for you anymore. We’re free agents.”

Crowley wished he could grab Aziraphale and kiss him, but he suppressed the urge and settled for enjoying the stricken looks on both of their enemies’ faces. 

“What exactly did you see?” Beelzebub demanded. 

“We saw you shagging in the back of that van outside my flat.” Crowley jumped in, giddy with the joy of shoving their mistakes in their pompous faces. “And we witnessed that little display you just put on. Nice job, Beelzebub.” He winked at her and Gabriel had to reach out and grab her by the shirt to keep her from lunging at Crowley again. “Look,” Crowley continued, “we know this is awkward and unpleasant. It doesn’t have to be. You just need to call off the inquest you’ve started and let us go free. Either that, or we broadcast your little love fest to the Celestial Cabinet and the Dark Council in under five seconds flat. It’s that simple.” He finished, smiling a broad, sunny smile that he hoped would drive them both bonkers. 

“Very well,” Beelzebub grumbled, looking defeated. “But you’ll have to tell us how you survived your punishments. We were very close to proving that it might have been the sex you’ve been having.”

“No you weren’t.” Corrected Crowley. “You were very close to permanently discorporating yourselves. You can’t just try out a little bit of Hellfire or Holy Water. The smallest drop or the tiniest flame is enough to do the trick.”

“No one’s ever mentioned that before,” Gabriel sounded sullen, as if he were five years old someone had told him the sweet shop closes early on Sundays. 

“It’s quite clearly outlined in the instruction manuals for the care and maintenance of celestial and demonic substances that’s on display in the break room at both our head offices,” piped up Aziraphale, looking pleased with himself. “You’d both know that, if either of you took the time away from torturing people and being stuffy and demanding to notice.” 

“Hey now!” Gabriel yelled, glaring with renewed anger at Aziraphale. “There’s no need for that kind of cheek! If you don’t cut out that attitude this instant..”

“You’ll what?” Asked Aziraphale with a wicked smile that Crowley quite enjoyed seeing play across his face. “We have the proof needed to get the pair of you into quite a lot of trouble, so I wouldn’t go trying to boss me around any longer.” He turned a very happy grin in Crowley’s direction, his face beaming like the rising sun, and Crowley had to look away before his face showed all the hidden love in his heart and he gave himself away completely. 

“How did you do it?” This from Beelzebub. “You owe us that much. We promise to stop spying on you and leave you alone if you‘ll tell us how you did the impossible. Its clearly not the sex like you claimed, or you wouldn’t have stopped us.”

“It wasn’t the sex,” admitted Crowley. “Truth is, I’m not quite sure how it happened,” he said, looking uncertain. “Aziraphale found one of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies and it told us to ‘choose your faces wisely. And so, the night after the Armageddon That Wasn’t, we just took hands and sort of swapped appearances.”

“Bullshit!” yelled Gabriel. “That’s not possible!”

“Oh but it is! I assure you,” This from Aziraphale. “How else could we have survived our punishments? I looked like Crowley and Crowley looked like me.”

“Show us,” This from Beelzebub. “I want to see proof.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and raised his eyebrows in a silent bid for approval. “What harm can it do?” he asked.

“I suppose it won’t matter now,” Aziraphale conceded. 

“This, I have to see,” Gabriel said, then snapped his fingers and the small space behind the dunes where they were all sitting brightened as a glowing orb of light appeared several feet above their heads. It was a good idea, being that the sun had well and truly set now and seeing one another had gotten more difficult. 

“I hope this still works,” Crowley said, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand. He felt Aziraphale’s warm, soft fingers interlacing with his, and the two of them closed their eyes and concentrated, much like they had that fateful night. Almost immediately, Crowley could feel the shift happening. Could feel himself thickening and changing, as he felt the hand clasped in his thinning out and elongating. 

He opened his eyes to see Gabriel and Beelzebub watching them with pale, shocked faces, and knew it must have been a success, even before turning and seeing his own, flame haired, yellow eyed, lanky limbed body sitting next to him on the sand. Looking down briefly, he could see Aziraphale’s oh so lovely, familiar waistcoat covered tummy and thick legs akimbo beneath him. 

“Dear merciful God in Heaven!” Gabriel exclaimed in a voice full of awe. 

“What the ever loving fuck?” Beelzebub brought a hand up into her hair to scratch her head in confusion. 

“See!” Crowley exclaimed. “It wasn’t the sex. We did this for the first time before we ever-” he broke off suddenly, realizing what he’d just implied. 

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale added, his usual, patrician accent sounding strange coming from Crowley’s mouth. “We’ve only ever done this the two times, but apparently, it’s a skill one earns and retains somehow.”

“Could  _ we _ do it do you think?” Beelzebub mused, quickly shaking off the shock of seeing their two subordinates trading places before her very eyes.

“Oh I’m not certain that would work for the two of you.” Aziraphale began. “I rather think it was a precautionary measure fo-”

Before he could finish, Gabriel and Beelzebub had clasped hands and with a look of concentration had swiftly morphed appearances. 

“Holy shit!” Exclaimed what looked like Gabriel with Beelzebub’s accent. 

“Oh sweet lord in Heaven,” this from Beelzebub, who was really Gabriel. 

“What the fuck?!” This from Aziraphale, who was actually Crowley. 

“Oh, dear me, I rather think we should all switch back now.” Aziraphale piped up, his cautionary advice sounding strange in Crowley’s voice. 

“Just give me a minute,” Gabriel who was actually Beelzebub had started reaching his hand down into his pants to cop a feel.

“Two can play at that game!” Gabriel announced before grabbing her (Beelzebub’s) breasts in both hands and giving them a squeeze. 

“Children. I’m surrounded by children,” Crowley as Aziraphale lamented, rolling his now blue-gray eyes skyward. 

After Gabriel and Beelzebub were eventually convinced to stop feeling each other up, they dutifully clasped hands and swapped back. As did Crowley and Aziraphale. The two couples ended up looking at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next. 

“But…” Gabriel said, sounding confused “how  _ did  _ you do it? You still haven’t told us how this swap works? Can angels and angels do it? Demons and demons? Is it only an angel-demon thing?”

“I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” Aziraphale replied, looking thoughtful. “We received instructions from an errant prophecy from an ancient prophecy book. It was vague to say the least. Only stating  _ choose your faces wisely _ . Nothing explicit and no instructions.”

Just then, a seagull landed in their midst. All four beings leaned back from the ungainly sea bird as it landed on the sand in the middle of their small group, flapping its black and white wings and emitting a loud squawk. It promptly vomited up what looked like a crumpled piece of paper and then flew off again.

“What the devil was that?” Exclaimed Aziraphale. 

“Blessed if I know,” Crowley replied. He crawled forward and snatched up the crumpled paper, which was only slightly damp with seagull spit, and opened it. “It’s… it’s another piece of one of Agnes’s prophecies.” He said with wonder as he smoothed out the small scrap of paper with his fingers and squinted at it. “It says here,  _ twas love, thee great blind pillocks.”  _

“Twas love…” Aziraphale repeated thoughtfully. “Whatever could she have meant?”

_ Crowley _ knew what the prophecy meant. He already felt an epic blush working its way from his hairline down to his chest like the lava flow of a recently erupted volcano. But he’d be damned if he was going to enlighten everyone else. 

“Oh no,” groaned Beelzebub and let her face fall into her hands, clearly also getting the picture. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

“What?!” Gabriel, like Aziraphale, was still in the dark. 

“Oh shiiit,” Beelzebub’s voice was muffled by her hands. What was visible of her countenance through her fingers was bright pink. 

“I’ve no clue,” Crowley lied smoothly, tossing the scrap of paper over his shoulder and resolutely avoiding looking at Aziraphale. “Very mysterious, those old prophecies. No way to tell what it actually meant.”

“Wait a moment,” Aziraphale appeared to be catching on slowly, and as he did so, he also turned pink, swallowed, cleared his throat. “Does that mean…”

“Angel, I.. I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Crowley stammered, still unable to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I wanted to. I swear I did. It’s just that what with us having to pretend to be in a relationship, and this whole blasted fiasco… I just couldn’t bring myself to-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke his name very softly and turned his face towards where the demon sat, slowly internally combusting with embarrassment. 

Across the way, Gabriel seemed to be slowly catching on as his mouth dropped open and his face turned red. “Oh dear,” he said. 

“That’s it! I’m out of here!” Beelzebub snapped her fingers and was gone, leaving a dismayed and very flushed Gabriel kneeling on the sand in front of a very awkward Aziraphale and Crowley. He gave them both a warning glare that said  _ don’t either of you dare bring this up ever again _ , and then he too snapped his fingers and was gone. 

That left Crowley alone with Aziraphale, which under most circumstances, would have been a welcome thing, but which currently was causing Crowley to have a small heart attack. He could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on his face like twin laser beams, but he still kept his own gaze firmly planted on the sand in front of where he sat. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated. His voice still gentle and soft in a way that made Crowley cringe. 

“Look angel, there’s no need to discuss this further. You heard Agnes’s prophecy. We can switch places because I… because I’m completely gone on you. Have been for ages.” He wished he could stop himself from saying the words, but it felt silly to deny his feelings now, now that he’d been called out by a three hundred and sixty year old witch. “I’m sorry I didn’t say so sooner, but I know angels can’t love like that, and you seemed so happy with us just shagging and… and… I didn’t-”

“Crowley please,” Aziraphale had now laid a gentle hand on Crolwey’s arm to try and get him to stop speaking. He was probably horribly embarrassed by Crowley’s stumbling confession. Crowley obliged him and stuttered to a stop. “Crowley, please look at me,” Aziraphale said, still using that soft, careful tone that made Crowley want to dig a hole in the sand and disappear. 

He decided instead to be brave, and turned his eyes to the angel’s face. The look he saw in Aziraphale’s eyes, dark under the glimmering luminescence of Gabriel's still glowing light source above them, took his breath away. Aziraphale looked happy. No, not just happy, but  _ joyful. _ His eyes were lit up and shining, as if filmed over with tears, and he was smiling his megawatt smile. The one that always made Crolwey’s heart feel like it might explode inside his chest. 

“Crowley dearest,” the angel said. “Crowley, I.. I love you. It’s alright.”

“Yes, yes. I know you  _ love me. _ ” Crowley couldn’t help but sound petulant. “You love  _ everything _ . You love croissants and first editions and heavy whipping cream and sunsets and babies. And you ‘love’ me. I get it angel.”

“I don’t think you do,” Aziraphale replied, and then he leaned in and kissed Crowley. Crowley made a surprised noise in his throat at the sudden contact, but it didn’t take him long to rally and kiss the angel back. Soon Aziraphale’s thick fingers were tangled in Crowley’s hair, and the kiss deepened and got quite delightfully involved, and Crolwey felt himself falling backwards to lay on the sand, pulling Aziraphale with him with his hands gripped in the angel’s lapels. 

They kissed passionately for some time, while Crowley’s brain ceased to do anything but send pleasure signals along the pathways of his nervous system, so that his whole body was tingling by the time Aziraphale pulled away again. Aziraphale, panting and flushed, looked down at Crowley with dark, dilated eyes, full of emotion. “You idiot,” he said fondly. “I’m madly in love with you. I thought you didn’t feel the same, and so I kept my mouth shut.”

“How.. how long have you…?” Crowley regrettably didn’t seem to be able to put together a full sentence, but Aziraphale caught his drift easily enough. 

“Since the Garden my dear,” he replied with a watery smile. “Ever since you crept up to chat with me that fateful day so long ago. You were so very handsome with your red curls and those lovely coal-black wings. I… I just couldn’t help but fall for you.”

“Oh,” replied Crolwey numbly.  _ Since the Garden? _ “Well then, that means, we’ve… we’ve loved each other, this whole time…” the implications of this fact were very slowly sinking into his pheromone addled brain. 

“Yes, my dear. We have it seems.” He was gently stroking his thumb along Crolwey’s lower lip as he spoke, and Crowley valiantly fought off the urge to suck that thumb into his mouth. “At first, I didn’t say anything because it was forbidden,” Aziraphale continued, using his free hand to pull Crowley closer against him by the hip and Crowley’s eyes rolled back in his head just a little. “But then, after that whole business with Adam and the end of the world, I convinced myself that you didn’t, couldn’t feel the same way. I’m sorry I kept quiet for so long.”

“No angel. No.  _ I’m _ the one who should be apologizing. I’ve been such a coward.” Crowley grabbed the hand that was stroking his face and interlaced their fingers as he continued. “I hung back all these weeks. You kept initiating sex and I kept letting you, like the horrid coward I am. I wanted to pounce on you so badly, but I couldn’t let myself. I’d convinced myself that if I didn’t make the first move, I wouldn’t spill how I felt. So I hung back. I thought you were only having fun, liking sex like you enjoy tea or cake… or you know..those other things you like that feel good.”

Aziraphale’s face grew suddenly serious. “Crowley, my dearest,” he said gravely. “Sex with you sits firmly atop the list of things I love most in this world. I would abandon my bookshop and swear off cake for a century if I could keep on making love to you.”

Crowley’s breath left his lungs in a surprised gust at the sound of the angel’s confession. He felt his heart swell painfully inside his chest with all the love he felt for Aziraphale in that moment. “Oh angel,” he breathed.

“Crowley, my darling” Aziraphale replied softly, then leaned down and kissed him again. 

Crowley had just about had it with being passive, and so he rolled them until he was on top of Aziraphale and kissed the angel with every ounce of passion he possessed. “Can you get yourself out of these clothes?” he asked, breathlessly against Aziraphale’s parted lips. 

“Yes darling.” The angel snapped his fingers and was instantly nude beneath Crowley, who took a brief minute to admire the ivory expanse of Aziraphale’s shoulders and chest before following suit and snapping his own clothes out of existence. He gasped as he felt his skin come into contact with Aziraphale’s, and felt the hot stiffness of Aziraphale’s erection pressing against his belly, just a few inches from his own. “Oh angel, I need you so badly.”

“Yes my dearest. Yes,” Aziraphale beneath him had grabbed Crowley’s hips with the admirable intention of pulling him closer. Crowley kissed the angel’s soft lips, then let his kisses trail down the angel’s neck, feeling his ardor flame brighter with the desperate soft noises Aziraphale was making. Suddenly though, he stopped. 

“We’re at the beach,” he said, tearing his lips away from the fragrant, silky skin along the side of the angel’s neck in order to state the obvious.

“Yes my darling. We are.”

“Well, is this too… exposed for you…? Would you rather… head over to mine? Or to the bookshop?”

“No dearest, right here is fine,” Aziraphale smiled shyly and leaned up to place a soft peck against the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “Although, perhaps, we could turn the light off? Wouldn’t want any beachcombers to get an eyeful now would we?” He snapped his fingers and they were both plunged into a deep blue twilight, illuminated quite romantically by the rising full moon over the ocean. “There,” Aziraphale said with a satisfied tone. “Now, where were we my darling?”

“Oh, I think we were right about here..” Crowley grinned, then lowered his mouth to capture Aziraphale’s tempting, soft lips in a passionate kiss while tightening his arms around the angel’s neck. 

Some time later, he hoisted Aziraphale’s knees onto his shoulders and slowly, gently worked the angel open with slick fingers while Aziraphale gripped his forearms and begged for more. 

“I want to please you, angel,” Crowley said, breathless from the feel of Aziraphale’s tight heat surrounding his probing fingers. “I want to do all the things with you that I held back from doing before because I was a cowardly git.” 

“Oh my dearest,” Aziraphale panted, thrusting with his hips in an attempt to impale himself just a little bit further on Crowley’s hand, “you know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I  _ want to _ angel. I want to very badly. Is this good for you? Would you prefer the other way around?”

“Don’t you dare stop!” Aziraphale yelped as Crowley slowed the gentle thrusts he’d been employing. “No, no, this is simply marvelous, my dear.” Aziraphale continued in a calmer voice, but nevertheless one that was husky with lust. “I want this. I want you inside me.”

Crowley responded by pumping a bit deeper with his fingers, probing for the bundle of Aziraphale’s prostate. He grazed that sacred spot with the tips of his pointer and index fingers and Aziraphale let out a decidedly unangelic moan. Crowley felt his cock twitch in response. 

“Angel, may I?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Please my dear. Please. If you don’t, I’ll go mad.” 

“Mmmm. I like when you beg.” Crowley teased while giving himself a few swift, preparatory strokes. Not that he needed much preparation, being that he was already hard as a stone. He lined himself up and sank slowly inside Aziraphale’s slicked entrance. They’d done this before (with Aziraphale calling the shots) and so Crowley was able to sink the entirety of his cock inside the angel until he was fully enveloped, his testicals resting warmly against Aziraphale’s soft buttocks, his pelvis flush with Aziraphale’s hot, fully erect cock where it lay between them. 

“Oh god,” Azirapahle breathed.

“Oh sweet Satan,” cursed Crowley. 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s face down to his and kissed him, which simultaneously moved Crowley’s body forward a few inches, pulling a little of his cock out of Aziraphale’s body and they both moaned against each other’s lips at that small friction. As soon as Aziraphale leaned back from their kiss, Crowley pulled out and slowly slid back home, bottoming out again and delighting in the wonton, utterly ruined noise that pulled from his angel beneath him. He set up a careful rhythm of strokes, keeping it gentle and somewhat slow to start with, until Aziraphale reached down to grab his hips and urge him to move faster. 

  
“More Crowley. Please my darling, more.”

Crowley happily complied, but knew he wouldn’t last all that long. The moonlight illuminating Aziraphale’s lovely face beneath him in shadow accented silver was almost enough to make him fall over the edge all on it’s own. He increased the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips a little with each inward thrust, delighting in the cries this elicited from Aziraphale. He could feel the angel’s cock leaking between them, leaving a sticky smear against his belly, so he paused for a moment and got his knees under him a bit so that he could free up both of his hands. He grasped Aziraphale’s lovely, thick cock in his hand and began stroking him. 

“Are you close angel?” he whispered, resuming his thrusts but a bit slower now, so as not to come too soon. 

Aziraphale, panting, nodded, then threw his head back with a gasp at the feel of Crowley’s hand, exposing his beautiful, pale neck. “Yes my dear, so close,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. 

Crowley angled his hips in a way that he knew would have him jutting against Aziraphale’s prostate and increased his speed again. He also increased the pace of his strokes on Aziraphale’s cock. “I’m going to come angel… I’m nearly there,” he warned, his breath coming in gasps, his body tight and coiled, poised on the razor’s edge of explosive pleasure. 

“Yes, yes my love. Yes!” Aziraphale’s rough voice, full of reverence and need, and his hands tightening on Crowley’s hips, pushed Crowley past the point of no return, and he felt the tight knot of his orgasm unfurling inside of him. Aziraphale cried out beneath him and for a long, sharply delicious few moments, Crowley could do nothing but moan loudly and convulse as he spilled deep inside Aziraphale’s heat and felt a warm slickness coat his pumping fist around the angel’s jerking cock. 

Slowly, the intense waves of pleasure receded and he came back to himself, just barely finding the presence of mind to snap away Aziraphale’s pool of semen before collapsing onto the angel’s soft, slightly sweat damp body. 

“Nnngk,” he grunted into the soft curls of Aziraphale’s chest hair, wrapping his arms around his thick waist. Dear Satan but the angel was comfortable to lie on top of. 

“Oh my,” whispered Aziraphale, still winded from his own orgasm. “Oh me oh my, that was… quite delightful.” 

Crowley snorted “I’m choosing to ignore that you use the same language for our lovemaking when describing a good parfait.” He was loose and warm and incandescently happy, so he could only barely manage to inject his statement with a few weak ounces of snark. 

Aziraphale chuckled contentedly as he combed through Crowley’s hair with his finger tips. “I’d trade all the parfaits in this world to keep making love with you,” he said, dreamily. 

“I love you so much angel,” Crowley mumbled into the sweet smelling expanse of Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I love you too, my darling boy,” the angel replied, wrapping his arms more tightly around Crowley and squeezing him. 

“Good,” Crowley said, placing a kiss on Aziraphale’s pale nipple before hoisting himself up onto one elbow to look down at Aziraphale’s love drunk face beneath him. “Shall we head home angel? I can snap us back to the shop.”

“Would you mind terribly driving us back?” Aziraphale asked. “I have the urge to hold hands with you in the Bentley and listen to some of that delightful Beebop you always have on the car radio.

“You mean The Best Of Queen?” Crowley asked, because all tapes and CDs that stayed in the Bentley for more than a few days, all gradually morphed into The Best Of Queen. Crowley had grown rather fond of Queen as a result. 

“Yes, that’s the one!” Aziraphale piped happily. 

Crowley regretfully pulled himself out of the angel’s embrace and stood, feeling more than a little boneless and disoriented like he usually was after sex with Aziraphale. He reached down a hand to help the angel up, and once on his feet, Aziraphale snapped his clothes back into place. Crowley moaned in disappointment, which caused Aziraphale to grin broadly as he reached for Crowley’s hand and laced their fingers together. Crowley redressed himself as well before they set out across the sand.

They walked to the car, leaning into one another a little, stopping every few yards for a some quick kisses. Crowley felt drunk on the knowledge that he was loved by the only being he’d ever loved. He felt a cautious, glowing optimism bloom inside his chest, so warm and strong that it might just be able to melt away some of his semi-present anxious pessimism. 

They got to the car and Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale, like a proper gentleman. Aziraphale thanked him with yet another kiss, this one lingering and passionate enough to leave Crowley gasping when the angel pulled away. Aziraphale didn’t get into the car immediately though. Instead, he clasped Crowley’s face tenderly in both of his hands and gazed lovingly into the demon’s eyes. He looked joyful and sated and incredibly adorable. 

“I’m so glad you told me my dear,” he murmured. “I’ve waited ever so long.”

Crowley smirked. “And you couldn’t speak up first?” he accused jokingly.

“Well, to be fair,” Aziraphale replied, cocking his eyebrow in a jaunty way, “as an angel, you can’t have expected me to simply hurl myself at a demon like some wanton harlot. I  _ have _ standards.”

“That angel excuse is getting old, babe” Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and kissed him on the tip of his impossibly cute nose. “We both know you’ve always been an utter hedonist.”

“You’re right I suppose. But still, I was scared Crowley dear. Scared that you’d… you’d reject me.” 

“Yeah angel, me too” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale tighter still. “We were both scared. Well, we don’t have to be any longer. Lets make the best of our time moving forward.”

“If by ‘make the best of our time’ you mean making love again as soon as possible, then, by all means my dear, drive us home!” Aziraphale grinned impishly before sneaking one more quick peck, then sinking into the passenger seat of the Bentley. 

The drive home was one of the most peaceful of Crowley’s life. The Bentley made sure to play the most romantic, heartfelt, sexy Queen songs while the angel and the demon held hands and tingled gently with anticipation over what they might get themselves into when they arrived back home. 


	16. Chapter 16

Back in the gleaming hallways of Heaven, Gabriel sighed and looked down at his hands during yet another dull boardroom meeting. This one was about whether or not appearing to devoted churchgoers in glowing beams of sunlight was actually causing higher church attendance, or simply making said churchgoers sound mental when they told their friends and family about it. And, if the latter, how better to spread the Word of God to humankind and improve attendance to churches, mosques, synagogues and other places of worship in general.

Gabriel couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything for very long. Not since Crowley had read them that snippet of Agnes Nutter’s prophecy. 

_twas love, thee great blind pillocks_

Those words, that short phrase kept echoing in his mind, along with images of a fierce little demon with ice blue eyes and shaggy black hair. 

He missed Beelzebub. It had only been two days since that whole mess on the beach, when they’d been spied on by that jerk Crowley and stupid, goody-two-shoes Aziraphale. The very fact that the pair had found a way to effectively blackmail themselves out of being punished made Gabriel twitch with the urge to throttle both of them. But despite the fact that only roughly 48 hours had passed since he’d last seen Beelzebub, he felt an urgent pull in the center of his chest to see her again. His arms felt empty because they weren’t wrapped around her small frame. Her sweet smell haunted his nostrils and the taste of her skin kept echoing over his tongue. 

Yes, the prophecy was true. He loved Beelzebub, loved her in a way that he had thought impossible from behind the cold mantle of responsibility he’d shouldered for so many thousands of years. Archangels weren’t supposed to _fall in love_. They were supposed to maintain order, and smite disbelievers and uphold celestial traditions. So why then was he yearning for the stern voice and harsh touch of his beloved lord of Hell? 

Sandalphon was droning on and on about alternate ways to appear to humans in order to inspire awe (putting one’s image on a pancake or a piece of toast, or making a statue weep or bleed). His voice was dull and monotone and it drilled into Gabriel’s ears, pulling him away from fantasies about kissing a pair of soft lips. 

“Sandalphon!” he snapped. “I’ve had quite enough of your pancakes and toast ideas. Let's call it a wrap for today OK guys?”

Sandalphon looked a little put out, but was probably just as glad as Gabriel to call it quits on the boardroom meeting. The angels stood and began heading for the door. Gabriel saw Michael pass close by. She was always good at understanding human emotions, so he grabbed her by the arm and gently detained her. “Can I have a moment of your time Michael?” he asked.

She nodded tersely and waited, looking up at him with eyes half suspicious and half curious. Probably thought he was going to ask her to smite someone, or give him some inside info on who she thought was misbehaving among the Heavenly hoards lately. He paused for a moment, unsure of how to ask what he wanted to know. 

“Have there… I mean is there… are there any records of any angels… falling in love with anyone?” he asked haltingly, hoping to maintain his attitude of effortless self confidence, but failing more than a little. 

“You mean other than Aziraphale and Crowley?” She asked with a sneer. 

“Yes, yes of course. Other than them.” Gabriel dismissed the pair with a swift wave of his hand. “Are there any _other_ angels who fell in love… with, I don’t know, anyone? Another angel? Human? …. Even a demon…” 

Michael appeared to give this some careful thought. That’s what Gabriel respected about her. She was level headed and sharp. She didn’t rush into things. Just as she’d carefully collected evidence about Aziraphale and Crowley’s connection before bringing it to him, she’d always look at a situation from all angles before taking action. Or look at all sides of a question before responding. 

“Hmmm,” she said. “I’ve heard rumors of a few angels developing…” here she flinched gently, “ _feelings_ for one another that went beyond mere angelic love. Probably a few over the past several thousand years. But they suppressed it before it caused any real trouble.” She finished. 

“And… angels falling for… lets just say… _demons_ for example.” He strove to keep his tone casual and only half interested. “Have there been any couples other than the… obvious nitwits?” He held his breath as he waited for her to respond. 

Michael’s eyes narrowed “Why do you ask?” she said, her voice growing a touch sharp as she peered up at him. 

“Oh!” Gabriel had to think fast. “I wanted to see if there was a common thread. You know, a red flag we could look for to pinpoint… _indiscretions_ like this in the future.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully and Gabriel let out a silent breath of relief. She seemed to have bought his story. “Not that I know of,” she replied simply. “Haven’t heard of it happening before those two idiots, so I’d be hard pressed to tell you what to look for or how an angel should avoid that sort of thing. I mean, they’re all so _repulsive_ . It’s a wonder Aziraphale could stand to… to… ick! I can’t even _think_ about it!” she wrinkled her pert nose and shook her head, her perfectly coiffed hair not moving an iota. 

“Oh, alright then. That makes sense. Yes, yes, they are quite disgusting… demons. Very unappealing. Don’t even really want to be in the same room as them, to be honest. They’re horrible. Yup.” Gabriel hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick, but he couldn’t risk Michael suspecting him. “Well, thank you for your input Michael. You’ve always given me excellent advice.”

She nodded tersely once more and walked away without preamble, leaving Gabriel alone in the conference room to fret by himself. His musings however were interrupted shortly thereafter by Sandalphon. 

“Gabriel, there’s another call for you… from Down Below. Sounds like her Lordship Fly-Face.” Sandalphone sneered as he spat out Beelzebub’s derogatory nickname and Gabriel flinched, suppressing a brief urge to punch Sandalphon in his stupid face. But quick on the heels of his discomfort came a rush of excitement. _Beelzebub!_ Calling him! He nodded, looking as somber and serious as possible. 

“Thank you, Sandalphon. I’ll be right there.” Sandalphon withdrew and walked off down the shining marble hall. Gabriel took a deep breath and smoothed his hands down his immaculately tailored suit jacket before following him. 

He approached the black phone with a mix of trepidation and tingling expectation. What would she say? Would she curse him off? Would she beg to see him? Perhaps, and this was the worst prospect… she’d just want to talk about work. To redefine the infrastructure between their two factions post Armagedon’t. Gabriel didn’t think he could bear it if she were cold and professional with him. He reached for the receiver and held it up to his ear.

“Gabriel here.”

“Hi, can you meet me in Vegas in half an hour?” came the silky voice on the other end that made his knees instantly weak and his stomch explode in fluttering butterfly wings. 

“Um, yes. Sure,” he replied, taken aback by the directness of her request… though to be honest, he shouldn’t have been surprised. She was quite a direct demon.

“Good,” she said simply, then the line went dead and Gabriel was left listening to the extended beep of the dial tone. He put the phone receiver back in its cradle in a bit of a daze. _She wanted to see him!_ Maybe it was to tell him that she couldn’t continue meeting him, but at the very least, he’d get to see her one more time, in private, without their angel or demon compatriots looking on to make sure they were appropriately horrid to each other. That was something wasn’t it? At this point, Gabriel was so besotted that he didn't even care. He _needed_ to see her again, even if it was one final time. 

He went straightway to his chambers to check his reflection, making sure he looked as polished and handsome as possible, and then, since he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else until he saw her, he snapped his fingers and was immediately back in the lounge in the casino where they’d met last time. A quick look around at the tables and chairs and at the bar told him she hadn’t arrived yet, so he wandered over to the bar and sat down. A bartender approached him, but he waved the man off with a flick of his fingers. He was never much for imbibing. 

After a few minutes of nervous waiting, his darting eyes caught sight of a pale face and black hair, and there she was, walking towards him through the crowds of ambling humans, her small frame clothed in a sharp, dark suit and red tie, her face schooled in an emotionless mask. Gabriel felt his human heart jump and start pounding in his ears as he watched her come closer. 

She came to a stop a few feet away from him, hands in the pockets of her trousers, blue eyes a little wary. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, noticing belatedly that his mouth had gone bone dry. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Nah. I’ll get it myself,” she said, not unkindly, and stepped up next to him at the bar. Her nearness had an immediate effect on Gabriel, who felt weak and shivery all over. The smell of her cologne and the slight whiff of brimstone underneath washed gently against his olfactory senses and his heart rate increased to a gallop. How did someone who spent most of their time in a dingy office filled with mold and leaky pipes smell so damned _good_?

She hailed the bartender with swift motion of her hand and ordered a vodka martini, then turned and leaned her back against the bar while she waited. She carefully avoided looking at Gabriel, instead, letting her eyes play over the crowds of babbling humans that walked by in groups and couples, eager to get to their next excuse to lose some hard earned cash. “So,” she began, “how’s things been Upstairs?”

“Things have been fine. Nothing much going on honestly,” he said, following her lead and keeping things conversational. Instead of say, falling to his knees in front of her and begging her to kiss him, which is really what he wanted to do at the moment. “Same old meetings. Same old daily grind.”

“Yeah, same thing Downstairs,” she replied. “Dull as all get out. Just piles of paperwork. Torture chambers chugging along. Not much to report.” The bartender arrived with her martini and she accepted it with a nod before taking a large swallow. 

“Why did you want to meet?” Gabriel hated showing how eager he was to get to the bottom of her request to see him, but he also couldn’t bear this casual back and forth much longer. He turned to look at Beelzebub, who was still keeping her eyes trained forward. 

“Can we go somewhere private?” she asked. He nodded eagerly and she instantly snapped her fingers, transporting them to a room in the casino hotel. The same one where they’d made love a few days ago. Gabriel felt himself growing hot in the cheeks as memories of that night flooded his brain. If Beelzebub was similarly affected, she didn’t let on. Instead she knocked back the rest of her martini before flinging the glass across the room (what was it with her and tossing glassware about?), then sat on the edge of the large, king size bed, her feet dangling a few inches above the floor. Gabriel cautiously sat next to her, but far enough away so as not to invade her personal space. 

“I um… I had to see you because… Well… um…” She stammered, apparently unable to get to the point. After a few more seconds of seeming just about to say something, but biting back her words, she swore colorfully and snapped her fingers again. Another martini appeared in her clenched fist and she gulped it down in one go. Gabriel waited nervously. She obviously needed some liquid courage to say what she had to say. Only time would tell if it were a rejection. 

“I...I... “ she stuttered again. “Bless it! Why is this so fucking hard!” she cursed, scrubbing a hand through her wild hair and scrunching her face up in a grumpy form of concentration. She snapped another drink into her hand and downed it in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey now.” Gabriel reached out a cautionary hand, but didn’t make contact. “Maybe take it easy on the hard liquor.” 

“Shut up,” she grumped. “I’m entitled to the use of some coping mechanisms. This is difficult, what I have to say.”

Gabriel felt a sick surge of nausea at the idea that she was getting herself psyched up to reject him. He thought perhaps beating her to the punch would hurt less. “Listen,” he began. “If you’re getting ready to tell me you don’t want to see me any longer, than you don’t have to-” 

Before he was finished she had slid from the bed and had crawled quickly to kneel between his open legs, the fingers of both hands clenched in the lapels of his jacket. She’d moved so quickly that Gabriel gasped and leaned away a bit in surprise, but she pulled him back towards her again with a sharp yank of her hands in his clothing. Her face was a sight, eyes sharp and pleading, mouth agape, brows drawn together as if in pain. “Just… just shut up for a minute would you?” she said gruffly, her voice breaking a bit, in a way he’d never heard before. She looked… vulnerable. Scared. It was very unlike her. 

“S-sure,” he stammered, and fell silent, gazing down into her anguished face, waiting patiently for her to speak. 

“I… I…” she tried to speak but stalled out again, then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, seeming to gather courage from somewhere inside her. “I.. It has come to my attention Gabriel… that perhaps,... that just maybe I might…I might have become a bit… attached to you,” she said haltingly, as if every word hurt to speak it. 

“Attached?” Gabriel felt his heart leap inside his chest. 

“Shut up!” she hissed. “You interjecting is _not_ helping me get this out.” 

Gabriel closed his mouth with a snap and waited. 

“M-more than attached actually,” she continued. “I think I might… maybe… possibly be… Just a little bit… in l-love with you.” she forced out. 

Gabriel’s mouth fell back open in surprise. His heart was thumping double time and his palms had gone sweaty. _She loved him_? 

“Well? Don’t just sit there like a lump! Say something!” she commanded, but hidden just below the surface was a plea. She was far from the dominant, confident, snarky demon he’d grown to know and love, and instead now seemed to be begging him for a response. Her eyes were shining with… unshed tears? And her lovely mouth was pressed into a firm, pale line. The knuckles of her hands where she still had them wrapped in the lapels of his jacket had gone white with the strain of gripping the fabric so tightly. 

“I… You’ve spent the past five minutes telling me to shut up,” he said numbly. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just needed to get out what I needed to get out. So… would you please let me know how you feel about that so I can stop kneeling here like an idiot?” The tears shimmering in both eyes spilled over the dams of her lower lids and tumbled down her pale cheeks. Gabriel reached up with gentle hands and wiped away the dampness from her face, cradling it in his broad palms as he gazed down into her eyes. 

“I love you, too,” he said softly, carefully. “I’m in love with you too,” then he pulled her face to his and kissed her, gently, pressing their lips together, feeling his body tingle all over at the feel of her soft mouth pressed against his own. He felt her hands release their death grip on his lapels and felt her arms wrap tightly around his neck, and he pulled her up into his lap so that she was straddling him, leaning against his chest as he continued kissing her. 

She pulled back and looked up at him with eyes full of wonder and a hint of cautious joy. “You do?”

“Yes,” he replied with a small grin. “Yes, very much.”

“Oh good,” she huffed a large sigh of relief. “I thought this was nothing more than fun and games for you. I thought I was alone in my feelings.”

“You heard the prophecy didn’t you?” he reminded her, while gently tucking a lock of wild black hair behind her adorable little ear, eyes hungrily searching her face. “Twas love. Do you think we could have swapped appearances if only one of us felt it?”

“No, I suppose not,” she agreed, nuzzling her face into his neck and sighing contentedly, then seeming to think of something and pulling back to look him in the eyes again. “What do we do now?” she asked, uncharacteristically uncertain in his arms. 

“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s not legal for us to love one another in the open. Not yet anyway,” he added. “But I think with some time, we could maybe ease people into the concept? I hate Aziraphale and Crowley as much as you do, but they at least made an angel and a demon being in love into a thing everyone knows exists now.”

“That’s true,” she replied thoughtfully. 

“Until then,” he said, letting a little velvety desire color his tone “I’d very much like to do some interspecies experimentation with you… if you’re open to that sort of thing.” He tightened his arms around her and grinned lasciviously.

She grinned back, her eyes falling to rest longingly on his mouth as she snuggled closer. “Yes, I think I’d quite like that.” she said. “You know what they say…” she asked, leaning in until their lips were only centimeters apart, her breath coming faster. 

“What do they say? He murmured, leaning in as well, breathing her air, his heart pounding at her nearness. 

“What happens in Vegas… stays in Vegas.” She grinned and then kissed him.


End file.
